The Fullness Of Time
by fansfieldpark
Summary: MY version of the end. Follows tv series canon mostly, picks up at end of ssn 6. Multi POV (& pairing) from: Jon/Daenerys, Jaime/Sansa, Arya/Gendry, Tyrion/Tyene. Drama-angst-Rom (in that order) but ultimately a pairing-centric kind of fic. Some violence and character death. Definitely Fluff, occasional light smut but slow burn. Work in Progress and first part of planned series.
1. Let There Be God

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

Some things I should say: This first part will focus more on Jon and Dany as well as Sansa and Jaime. I know it's not a popular pairing, nor one likely to happen, but I'm feeling it, so I'm going there. As for Jon and Dany, I'm not ecstatic they're related but I think they're a perfect pair, so there's that. I feel like I ought to mention that Gendry/Arya will be the focus of part two of this series, though both characters appear here.

I want to stress that this is a work in progress, so updates may be slow, and with the universe so big, sometimes obvious things slip by when i'm focusing on other details. Also, I'm trying to follow the show, but i'm really writing it for the ships, so it may on occasion deviate from the series narrative.

* * *

Let there be life _, said God. And what he wrought went past in myriad marching lives,  
And brought this hour, this quiet room, and my small thought holding invisible vastness in its hands._

Let there be God _, say I. And what I've done goes onward like the splendour of the sun,  
and rises up in rapture and is one with the white power of conscience that commands._

 _Let life be God... What wail of fiend or wraith dare mock my glorious angel  
where he stands to fill my dark with fire, my heart with faith?_

 _from The Power And The Glory by Siegfried Sassoon_

 **Arya**

å

"Where does your loyalty lie?" She asked him.

She did not know her uncle from squat, nor he her, and they were in a dark dungeon, and it was likely he would never realize, so she used her own face. He seemed surprised of her age, but he didn't seem to doubt her tenacity, especially when his eyes would veer behind her, no doubt looking at the dead bodies strewn outside his cell.

"To my family," He answered, tears building in his eyes even in his fear.

"And who is that?" She said, her voice a grade louder.

He looked her over, no doubt searching for a sigil of some kind. When he found none, he asked, "Who are you?"

She smiled. "No one," And moved a bit closer.

He seemed to sense the danger she was trying to imply, and finally answered, "My wife and son. My people."

"And the Blackfish?" She asked, inching even closer.

"I did what I had to."

She accepted this answer, and moved on. "And your sister, Lady Catelyn?"

"She's dead. There was nothing I could do to stop it," He answered morosely.

She wanted to believe he felt sad, but she was not yet convinced.

"The Lannisters are gone South. Lord Walder Frey and his sons are dead. If I free you, what will you do?"

"Go home, but not without my-"

"Let's say I get you out of here with beau and babe in tow, and you go home, where will your loyalty lie?"

"Wherever you want it!" He exclaimed, hoping it was the answer she wanted.

She took a whole step closer, and suddenly a dagger was unsheathed at her side.

"A man whose loyalty is so easily bought is not worth much," She said.

Tears started streaming steadily down his cheeks, as he seemed to think she planned on killing him.

"You are right," He cried.

"I only wish to save my family and return home. I will do whatever it takes to see them truly safe and free, even give my life if I must."

"Stop your crying," She said, her tone exasperated.

"You will not die today. I will free wife and babe, but you will promise me one thing."

He blinked fast a few times, and he stopped.

"Anything," He said, his voice still broken.

"You've said nothing of your northern relatives. Are they not your family?"

This seemed to surprise him, but he answered, "The Starks? They are all dead save for Lady Sansa who is married to Lord Bolton's son, by choice I heard."

"Then you have heard wrong lord Edmure. House Bolton is dead. Lady Sansa is with her brother in Winterfell. And like you, they need allies. Loyal ones."

"I would be glad to pledge for the Starks once more, as I did when Robb was King in the North."

She smiled but it did not reach her eyes. With her blade still in sight, she replied, "Betray them, and I will kill you. Wife. And babe. I promise you."

"Never, I swear it," His voice was desperate and he bowed deeply.

When he looked back up, she was gone, and by the time he made it out of the dungeons his family was before him, and when they exited the castle, there was a horse waiting before them, and out of sight, she watched them leave.

She looked for a long moment at the place that had given her so many nightmares, where she'd seen her brother's direwolf's head and Robb... Though her mother and brother were still dead, she'd taken back the lives that had been stolen from her, three for three.

She'd considered throwing Jaime Lannister into the deal, even smiled when the thought of slitting his throat crossed her mind, and as she walked through the room making sure to keep her eye on him, she saw him speaking to Walder Frey. She watched their lips as as they spoke and though she hadn't gotten it all, it was clear Frey was comparing the two and Jamie did not like it. But instead of contempt she saw shame, and suddenly killing him did not feel like the right thing. He hadn't been on her list, and he'd never harmed her family, as far as she knew.

So when he looked her way, she'd smiled. For now, he would live.

She had wanted nothing more than to head north, and go home. But when she freed her uncle, she realized what she wanted was not to return home to her family, but to finish what she started. So she took the passing South, in search for the next name on her list.

The Red Woman had killed Gendry, as far as she knew. She'd taken him away, and Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion had sold him like cattle. They were no brotherhood, and she would end their farce before more people fell prey to their lies.

After, she would find the red woman, and find out what happened to her friend. Then the woman would die, quick or slow, it depended on her answer.

And there was also Cersei and the Mountain to deal with. She still had much to do, and she would not return home until her list had been cleared, no matter what it took.

* * *

a/n: The title of this fic is inspired by a line from a poem by Charles Tomlinson called Against Extremity.

thanks for reading.


	2. The House On The Hill

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _They are all gone away, the House is shut and still...  
Nor is there one today to speak them good or ill...  
There is ruin and decay in the House on the Hill: they are all gone away,  
There is nothing more to say._

 _from The House On The Hill by Edwin Arlington Robinson_

 **Jaime**

ø

He'd rushed to the Sept worrying the worst, though thinking back, he wasn't sure why. The High Sparrow would no more burn down his palace of worship than the King would the Red Keep. When he arrived, there was only rubble but small fires were still burning, and the smell of smoke and death permeated the air. In the chaos, he heard only that hundreds had been inside, servants of the seven, lords and ladies and common people of the city, and half the royal court including Queen Margery, her brother Loras and their father. His Uncle Kevan had perished as well, along with his cousin Lancel.

He'd gone to the Red Keep feeling only relief that his sister and son were safe. Bronn had kindly taken charge of situating the Lannister army as he headed for the Great Hall when he received word that there was to be a Royal announcement.

Instead of the panic he expected, the hall was deadly quiet as he entered. The room however was full of people lined up before the throne, waiting. They were surrounded by men in crimson and gold armour and tension was thick in the air; it reminded him of something, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. When his sister entered, walking between the two walls of Lannister soldiers with goldcloaks trailing behind her, dressed fully in black that reminded him of something their father once wore, he knew it likely his son the King was too broken up about his Queen that he sent his mother to address the people.

It was not until he saw the Mountain who followed behind her and the other men trailing behind him, settle at her side as she stood before the throne, and Qyburn at his opposite side, that Jamie realized something was amiss. The maester who was not, moved forward.

"I now proclaim Cersei of the House Lannister, first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of The Seven Kingdoms."

As the man turned to face her, the self proclaimed Queen, all he could think of, was Tommen. He was dead, of that he was certain, but how had his son died? When had it happened? He had not been gone long and the fact that she was already crowning herself made him wonder if she'd even taken the time to mourn their last son.

Qyburn placed the crown upon her head, and stepped aside. She looked out at the people before her for a moment, then sat on the iron throne that had killed two of her sons. Then, she finally looked at him, and there was no love in her eyes, and he realized what he'd been reminded of.

The Mad King.


	3. The Snow Man

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _One must have a mind of winter... And have been cold a long time...  
not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind. _

_For the listener, who listens in the snow,  
_ _and, nothing himself, beholds nothing that is not there,  
_ _and the nothing that is._

 _from 'The Snow Man' by Wallace Stevens_

 **Jon**

❄️

Even without a crown, every time someone called him 'your Grace' he felt awkward and uncomfortable. He was grateful for their acceptance, but he wasn't royalty, he was just a bastard of the North, once a crow on the Wall. He never told anyone how he felt, not even Sansa. He had not rejected it because he knew, only as King could he do what needed to be done. Half the men still didn't seem convinced in the dead heading their way, but it did not matter. The dead were coming, and the living would soon believe. And he would ensure they were ready.

Still newly appointed, he turned his attentions North and soon Winterfell and Wintertown were both full and hard at work, and every night at supper he'd invite one of his subjects to share his hearth, and he'd listen to their concerns, just as his father had when he'd been lord of Winterfell. He would not make the same mistake again, and trust blindly in the honour of men. He would know them, and be sure of their loyalty.

As for his sister, he wished things between them were more... honest. She held a lot back and she seemed to doubt him, though he tried hard not to think of it, it was difficult not to wonder why she didn't trust him. He wondered if she thought him foolhardy for charging forwards for Rickon, and perhaps she was right but Rickon was their brother and if given the chance, he would do the same again. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, though he knew he probably should.

When Edmure sent word that he'd taken back Riverrun, and would support them with the might he had left, he couldn't help but feel wary of his loyalty. The only tie that bound Lord Tully to him was Sansa, and he was only half bound to her. It was not a fealty he felt altogether confident with, but he spoke of it only the once to Ser Davos.

He knew Sansa doubted the man's loyalties, but Jon did not. He was a clever and knowledgeable man, but he was also humble and decent, and his years with Stannis only proved that he was the sort of man that remained loyal through thick and thin, to the last. Their father had respected lord Stannis, but a red woman had lead him astray and Ser Davos was not to be blamed for that.

"My pardons your Grace, but-"

"Oh not you too!" He grumbled, standing from the chair his father would sit in on occasions such as this. "We are alone, there's no need for all that."

"You are king and there is need, your men need to respect you, even in closed quarters. Meaning no offence, your Grace."

He turned away from the Onion Knight, aware that he was right but resentful of the matter regardless. Ser Davos pushed on.

"The Tully's words are 'Family, Duty, Honour' are they not?" He asked, his tone passive.

Jon looked back at his friend still sitting, and nodded, finally bringing himself back around to grip the back of his father's chair.

"I'm not his family. He has no duty to me," He couldn't help but say.

"Ay, but he's uncle to your sister. He was prisoner to the Frey's who are now dead, and he's no friend to the Lannister's. Trust that he has no where else to go."

He had nothing to say to that, and so he conceded, for the moment at least.

"Has there been any more word on what happened at the twins?" He asked still curious.

It had been an odd affair. The Lannisters had just retreated from taking back Riverrun, and yet lord Walder had been found dead, and his eldest two sons had disappeared. Lord Edmure had been freed, and he'd taken his bride and son with him. Walder's remaining children and grandchildren kept the castle for a time, but once Lord Tully returned they had quickly fallen. Now the pass and the twins, and the remaining Freys were guarded by the men of Riverrun.

Lord Baelish had suggested sending a contingency of the Vale, and himself, to 'aid' the men in keeping the castles, and while it wasn't exactly a bad idea, he thought it best to keep Littlefinger where he could see him. And so to appease the man in some way he had sent some men of the Vale, but also men from Bear Island, and though he would have preferred keeping Ser Davos at his side, there was no one else he trusted enough to handle the situation. Ay there was, but Tormund was not around though he was hardly right for the task, and though Sansa had had a point, there was no way he would risk her, not even with Brienne at her side. He'd had to put his foot down, and also remind her that there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, and he was not a Stark. His tone had ended the conversation there, but he had a feeling it was far from over. The Knight and his many men, would leave in the morning.

Ser Davos hesitated for a moment, "Ay, there has. You might want to sit down for this your Grace."

He gave him an odd look, but did as requested, as he sensed not another word would be said until he did.

"I sent a scout to the twins, to assess the situation and there's a few things he mentions. They found Walder's sons."

Another pause. "Chopped up in Lord Frey's meat pie."

He let that sink in before pressing further, as he was suddenly reminded of the story of the rat cook that Old Nan had once told him and his brothers and sisters, though Sansa had stormed out before she'd finished it, and Rickon was just a babe. He remembered Bran's expression, horrified yet utterly entranced, and Arya's, thrilled and amused. Robb seemed more interested in the reactions of his siblings than the story itself. Consequently, Jon forced himself to remain impassive, though this story had always bothered him.

He was surprised to find himself not that upset about it. Of course, the man and his sons had murdered his brother Robb and Lady Catelyn, and their men, so it did not shock him that he had no pity for them.

"What else?" He continued finally.

"No one saw, nor heard a thing. The Lannister's had all left, the only outsider's that remained were the extended help still cleaning the grounds. Stranger still, word did not spread, not until after Lord Tully arrived at Riverrun. The surviving Frey's have all sworn fealty to the Tully's. Course, none is over the age of twenty, but they'll be a changed lot after the war is done, and house Frey will be the better for it."

Though that was probably true, it felt like little consolation to losing his brother, so instead he asked, "Is that all then?"

"For the most part. There is one more thing, minor though it is. Throughout Riverrun, and especially at the Twins, hangs the banner of House Tully, and above the fish hangs the direwolf of House Stark."

❄️

He'd not been wrong. He'd barely emerged from his room the next morning, when he caught sight of her fiery red hair, and stormy blue eyes charging towards him. It was still early, but she was fully dressed, cloak and all.

"I'm going South with Ser Davos," She declared when she was standing before him. "And I will continue on to Riverrun, and see my uncle."

He couldn't help but smile, feeling the fury of the wolf in her. He turned back towards his chambers, opening the door and motioning her in.

"Not here," He said simply.

Her expression determined, she moved into his quarters, and he closed the door behind them.

"I'm no use here," She spoke before he had the chance to refute her. "And I know there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, but there is. You are a Stark, like it or not."

With a sad sigh he replied, "It is not safe Sansa. I will not allow you to be in harm's way. Not again, not ever."

"He's my Uncle, and he's a Tully. I am a Stark but my mother was a Tully, no harm will come to me, I know it. He is loyal to me, but we need to know for certain how far that loyalty goes."

He's not sure how she knew of his doubts, maybe she didn't, maybe these were her own, but still, he couldn't bring himself to accept.

"In time, perhaps. For now, your place is here."

She opened her mouth to challenge his decision, but this time he spoke before she could.

"I need you here, Sansa. We need the Vale on our side if we're going to survive, and gods know, I am not clever enough to handle Lord Baelish. With Ser Davos leaving, and Tormund at the Wall, you're the only person I trust."

She relented, though she didn't seem entirely pleased about it, "Fine. When the time comes though…"

Feeling relieved, he opened the door once more.

"I'll send you off myself," He finished for her.

"You better," She grumbled as she made her way out into the hall.

With that settled, they went down together to see Ser Davos off, along with his knights of the Vale and Bears of the Island. When Brienne approached looking ready, Sansa gave her a curt nod and the lady understood, and gave him a nod in return, and he couldn't help but feel like she was silently agreeing with him. She bowed at them both before leaving, probably to inform Podrick of the change in plans.

He felt vindicated suddenly, because it was the right decision, he knew it. It was too soon for her to whisk herself away, especially to the Riverlands. Ser Davos and his men would be a test, to see how they were welcomed. Instead, they were to ride to Riverrun where the knight would deliver a message, the sort that required to be said in person, and Jon would know finally if he was ally or not.

Sansa settled to his right when they reached the yard where the men were already readying to leave. Suddenly, as if he meant to say his own farewell, Ghost approached from behind, sitting beside him on the opposite side of his sister. The Onion Knight took them in all standing there, and he smiled. It wasn't much of a seeing-off party, but the man seemed to appreciate it none-the-less.

"Your Grace, Lady Sansa," He looked down at the direwolf sitting nearly as tall as Jon, and added as an afterthought, "Ghost."

"The might of the North here before me, a smuggler of the south. Gods be good, i'll succeed in our task and be worthy of such a send off."

Sansa smiled, and Jon's lips turned up as she spoke, "And the North is grateful for your loyalty Ser Davos. You are a true Knight, and we are lucky to have you at our side."

Davos seemed surprised by her words, but he bowed and said, "Thank you my lady."

He turned to Jon then, and though they shared a look, neither spoke. Not until he sat upon his horse, and his men did the same.

"I wish you safe journey Ser Davos."

"Your Grace," He responded with a light nod.

With a last look at Ghost, he turned his horse around and began to lead his men out. The three of them waited before they had all retreated and the gates were shut before heading back inside.

It wasn't a very cold day, the sun was shining, and when his direwolf headed towards the godswood, Jon had even been tempted to follow him and sit next to the heart tree, as so many Starks had done before him. He must have given himself away because with a shiver, Sansa reminded him that there were already people waiting to have word with the King. With a sigh, he followed her inside.

He sat at the head of the table, Sansa now to his left, and lady Brienne stood by the wall behind them, dressed full in armour and though she stood alone, he doubted anyone would try to cross her. He was glad Sansa had found her, and slept easier knowing Brienne would keep her safe.

He suddenly felt very alone. Before, he'd always felt lonely, especially when he was in the great hall looking up at his family instead of sitting next to them, or when Lady Catelyn's eyes found his... But now, he sat with the family that remained to him, and he would give anything to be the bastard of Winterfell again, if it meant he could have his family back, even Theon. He realized how lucky he'd actually been on the Wall as well, other than that initial rub with the others that had faded thanks to Tyrion, for a time, there'd been a group of men he could call brothers.

He passed the morning as he usually did, talking to those who came to petition, his sister offering council when she could. There were farmers discussing harvest, soldiers giving reports, townspeople pledging fealty and looking for shelter. This day was much of the same, and by the time he saw his last petitioner, the great hall was empty save for the guards at the entrance, his sister, lady Brienne and himself, and the sun had not yet set. Turning his attention to the lone man following the guard, he was glad he still had time to go to the Godswood.

Up close, Jon saw that the man he'd thought older, in part to the thick beard on his face but mainly by the size of him, was no older than himself. He was not bold though he was big. When he bowed and said 'Your Grace', Jon could tell he did not often deal with lords and ladies, nor kings and petitioning them, because as an afterthought he turned to Sansa and bowed, seeming to have just remembered her, and added, "My lady."

Jon smiled, and surprisingly so did his sister.

The man seemed to remember himself and said, "My name is Gendry Waters, your Grace."

* * *

Reviews are appreciated!


	4. Only Thy Dust

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _Earth & the sun were sweet to us, green grass and brooks and laughter..._ _Dawn & the hills were glad of us...  
_ _Stars and streams were friends to us, clear skies and wintry weather...  
_ _And it was not wraith and wraith with us, but flesh and blood together._

 _Only the dust of thee is here...  
But when mine own day closes I will lie down beside thee, love, and mingle with thy roses._

 _from Only Thy Dust by Don Marquis_

 **Gendry**

Ω

For the greater part of his life, no one save for his mother, had ever been interested in him, not until a master armourer had taken him under his wing and taught him how to wield a hammer. Then it was only him who cared, but the first hand of the king appeared, and the second, and his life was not what it had always been. His master cared no longer and sold him to the Wall, then the goldcloaks had come, then the brotherhood and the red woman, and suddenly he found himself interesting to everyone.

He tried to remember that it wasn't all bad, he'd known some good folk in his life, and thanks to a few of them, he was still alive. He realized now, that the man he'd once considered a father, had sold him to the night's watch to save his life. Yoren had died protecting him from the king's men, and Davos, had stopped the red woman from sacrificing him to her lord of light.

And then there was Arya. He was not sure she saved his life exactly, by getting him out of Harrenhal, but he knew if not for her, he'd either still be there, or dead.

 _"I can be your family."_

He could still remember her voice, her reaction when he'd rejected her. He knew that he was not good enough to be her family, he was just a bastard from Fleabottom. He could not keep her safe, no more than he could himself. But he couldn't deny that it was her words that kept him going. During those long nights in the dank dungeons of Dragonstone, or when the muscles of his arms ached so bad he thought his arms would drift away with the oars of his boat, or when he'd settled in the Riverlands and had perfected his craft by working for an armourer who never seemed happy, but the wages were above average and he earned a good reputation.

When he heard that Winterfell had been retaken by the Starks, a bastard son, and his half sister, he initially thought it was her. it wasn't until someone had mentioned that she was the spitting image of Lady Catelyn with her auburn hair that he realized it wasn't. He'd been tempted to abandon his quest, but he didn't. He would serve the King in the North, and wait for her if she was not already there. War was coming, and he would use it to build himself up, and one day-

"You there! Come along now," Someone shouted at him suddenly.

One of the guards was beckoning him over, and he rose, his thoughts abandoned.

When he reached the man, he received a once over, but otherwise the guard's bravado had faded and he said nothing. Gendry knew he'd grown much in the past year, in muscle and height but he often forgot his size, and how he seemed to easily intimidate those around him.

The doors opened then, and the same man lead him in. It was late already, and the room was empty save for the King and the two women around him, one sitting beside and the other standing behind. He suddenly was grateful there would be no one but them to see the blunder his petitioning would likely be as he had no idea what he planned to say.

As expected, his greeting had gone terribly, but they'd smiled, their grins mirror images and he imagined it was what Arya's smile looked like as well. Suddenly remembering he hadn't introduced himself, he hastily said, "My name is Gendry Waters, your Grace."

He paused, uncertain if he should say where he was from, considering it seemed likely they already knew. As he was about to speak, the lady spoke first.

"You're from the Crownlands," Her smile was gone, and her tone suspicious.

"Ay, my lady," He replied, not very glad himself about it. "King's Landing. I was an armourer's apprentice."

"You're very far from home," The King said then, kindly.

"It was never really my home, your Grace," He answered honestly.

The King seemed to understand what he meant, and Gendry decided it was safe enough, to share some truth.

"I met your lord father once, your grace, my lady," he said then, and suddenly somehow the room grew quieter.

"He came with questions, just as the hand before him had."

"Lord Arryn?"

He turned to her after she spoke, "I believe so, my lady."

"What did he seek of you?" The King asked then, seeming equally as surprised as his sister.

"He inquired first about lord Arryn and why he'd come. When I told him, he asked a couple of the same questions the other had."

"And then he died," the lady said, her tone accusing.

He couldn't deny it anymore, he knew now why they'd come looking for him, though he still wasn't sure why him being the bastard of the dead king Robert got them killed.

The king glanced over at his sister before he asked without accusation, "What questions?"

"About my mother, and what she looked like, your Grace."

This was exactly how his meeting with lord Stark had gone, and he realized suddenly, that the king was very much his spitting image, not only in looks, though his hair was wilder and darker, but in the way he spoke and carried himself.

Knowing he would ask, Gendry spoke first, "She died when I was little, and she had yellow hair."

Both the king and lady Sansa seemed confused by this answer, and though he knew who his father was, he was not ready to tell them yet. So he pressed on before either could inquire further.

"He also offered me a chance, that if the day ever came that I should choose to wield a sword instead of forge one, I should come to him, your Grace."

"Why not join the city watch or the Lannister army to better yourself? They're much closer and you could have saved yourself the trouble."

"Sansa," It was the first time he heard the king speak in anger, and his voice had only been stern.

By her reaction, it was the first time for her as well. She composed herself moments later, after giving the woman at the back a glance. He turned to look at his feet before anyone turned back to him, feeling as if he'd just intruded on a very personal moment between siblings.

"Her words could have been better chosen, but my sister has the right of it. You have travelled too far simply to serve. If betterment is what you seek, no army better than the Lannister to gain riches, or the watch for glory."

He looked up at the king when he spoke, knowing he was being addressed. He didn't know how to explain, not without giving himself away, in either that he was the bastard of the old king Baratheon, or that he'd known their sister, and she was why he was here. So he told as much truth as he could.

"Tis true your Grace, but the Lannisters want me dead, and the goldcloaks seek me out. Your sister Lady Sansa has the right of it. Two hands of the old king visited me and died not a week after they'd spoken to me, though I could not tell you why. I'm just a bastard from Fleabottom, no more."

His sister whispered something in his ear and suddenly Gendry was worried they would turn him away, so he spoke without thought.

"I do not seek riches nor glory your grace, only to be a better man. I left King's landing when I was barely a man, and have since met brother's of the night's watch, goldcloaks and Lannister men, the brotherhood without banners and the lord of light, and of them all only the North, starting with your father, showed me any kindness. So I am here."

All three regarded him carefully, and it was obvious by the look on her face, he'd already won over the fierce woman standing behind them, as for the king and his sister, neither was entirely convinced yet.

"What do you mean by 'The North'? Who else helped you?" The king asked.

"The brother of the night's watch, he helped me escape King's Landing, and he saved my life."

It wasn't everyone he meant, but it would do.

"What was his name?"

"Yoren," He answered simply, remembering the gruff surly man who'd died protecting him and Arya.

The King nodded but didn't ask anything more. Lady Sansa kept quiet, and though she said nothing he could tell she wasn't completely satisfied in his story, and that she knew he was hiding something, and though he was, it wasn't the villainy she seemed to expect.

"Are you proficient in your skills as an armourer?"

He nodded, feeling the glimmer of hope in the pit of his stomach, "I've worked in various strongholds since leaving the capital, but as of late, I've worked at an armoury in the riverlands for the past two years."

"You are not skilled in battle though you wish to learn."

It was a question though he hadn't said it as such, so he nodded again. He had to learn how to fight if he ever hoped to protect her.

"We have need of an armourer, and many more, so you will spend half your time helping our armourers train a few others to learn the craft, and the rest of your time you will learn to wield your sword. When you are ready, you will swear fealty and one day you will fight, for the great war is coming."

"Thank you, your Grace," he said then, with a bow.

"When the time comes you may not feel so grateful," He replied, his voice low and solemn, and the room seemed to chill at the following silence.

Gendry felt stupid then, knowing it was not right to be grateful for war, but he'd said it more because he was grateful for the chance to bind himself to Arya in some way. He looked down regretting himself when the king spoke again.

"It's probably best you change your name. Waters will not do you any favours in the North, and surrounded by northerners and men of the Vale, Snow and Stone will raise questions you may not be able to answer. Rivers or Storm will serve you best I think."

He nodded deferentially, and the king stood. It would seem they were done. Lady Sansa followed his lead and the woman in armour standing behind them approached, her face hard but not unkind.

"Welcome to the North, Gendry-" The king's voice hung on his name, and he realized he wanted to know what he'd chosen.

"Rivers. your Grace."

A part of him wanted to say Storm, but being the bastard son of a dead king did not make him part of that land, and he'd lived in the Riverlands for some time now, it'd been more his home than he'd ever had. Besides, it would better keep his secret. Though he was not sure why he felt the need to keep it.

* * *

Thanks for reading and reviews are appreciated too!


	5. Barbarians

warning: Not my favourite chapter. In fact, Sansa's pov is not my strongest.

* * *

 _Muted tones and half-tones, barbarians watch me quiet like...  
_ _Okay, I think I understand, rebellion is a chore, under these circumstances misguided...  
_ _Turn insights into action, buck up, deliver on a scale of new dimensions.  
_ _Expand the box, kill the feeling... now survey what's left._

 _from Barbarians by Billy Corgan_

 **Sansa**

§

She'd been able to keep herself in check the moment Jon had scolded her. It hadn't actually been that bad, but it was the first he'd reprimanded her publicly and she felt the hard sting of it. She was overreacting she knew it, he'd only said her name strongly, but she couldn't avoid it. He'd asked for her help, and when she'd given it, he didn't seem to want it. That wasn't true either, he'd used her advice, he only wanted her to say it more kindly. That seemed reasonable, so why had she been so angry when he'd said so?

"Is something wrong my lady?"

Brienne was walking beside her, and seemed to sense her inner turmoil, but she said nothing, not until they reached her chambers and she'd closed the door behind them.

"You saw what happened... how can I advise him if he will not listen?"

"But my lady," She began, her voice uncertain, "He did listen."

She moved over to her bed and sat forcefully before answering, "Yes he did."

She didn't know how to explain, for she did not know herself exactly.

"I trust my brother," She said then, more to herself than to Brienne.

"I only wish..." Her voice trailed off as she considered what she truly wanted.

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but she shook her head and the lady remained quiet.

'He listened more', that was not it, and besides, it was obvious he was trying.

'He was not so kind', she had thought he needed to be tougher, but as she was around when people came to see him, she realized his humility only endeared them to him more, so that was not it either.

'I was Queen,' occasionally this thought nagged at the corner of her mind, but when she finally said it to herself she realized, no she did not want to be queen, nobility was where it belonged, with Jon.

He only needed to be more careful. Finally, she had figured it out.

"I only wish," she repeated aloud, "He wasn't so trusting."

And that was it. She'd spent so much time in King's landing with the Lannisters, and the Vale with Littlefinger, she saw what trust got you. Jon was everything her father had been, and he'd lost his head for being who he was. She realized now that she'd played her part in her father's death, and it was clear she was trying hard, perhaps too hard, to protect Jon from the same fate.

At Brienne's expression, she continued, "There are awful people in the world, Brienne. I have seen and endured some of it myself, the things they do for power, money, greed or for cruelty itself. Jon is good, like my father, and I worry..."

"Your brother the King has endured it as well and suffered the same fate if what they say is true, and he survived a lost battle with barely more than a wound to the leg. I cannot say I'm a great judge of character, but from what i've seen, King Jon's men are loyal to him, as you are my lady."

It was obvious Brienne wished to say more, but she kept her mouth shut, and only bowed to excuse herself.

"You can say it Lady Brienne. Everyone except Lord Baelish."

The tall blonde nodded but did not speak. He'd saved her brother with his knights of the Vale, but now they were indebted to him, and she had the feeling that he did not let debts slide by. Jon had said so himself, dealing with Littlefinger was up to her. He'd betrayed her father, and she would find the way to make him pay.

"You and I will find a way to outsmart the mockingbird, if we do not, no one will try and stop him until it is too late."


	6. Night Sky

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _Every night is a rinsing myself of the darkness that is in my veins.  
I let the stars inject me with fire, silent as it is far but certain in its cauterizing of my despair.  
I am a slow traveller but there is more than time to arrive.  
Resting in the intervals of my breathing, I pick up the signals relayed to me from a periphery I comprehend._

 _from Night Sky by R.S. Thomas_

 **Arya**

å

She'd not been sure of her direction, only that she was heading South, nor of who she would cross off her list first. Walder Frey had felt like the most pressing, as he'd been one of the only that was directly responsible for two deaths in her family.

She was not in any rush to get anywhere, and so, had taken to dropping in on people, and listening to their conversations. She did this not because she was interested in what they spoke of, but as a means to test herself, and stay sharp. No one ever noticed her, and she got better at switching faces quickly. It was on one such occasion, she eavesdropped on two men, Lannisters by their armour, resting under a tree. She lied on a branch looking up as they spoke below.

Stirring a small pot he had sitting over the flame, the smaller of the two spoke.

"If we were smart, we'd abandon the call and head east. The Targaryen Queen flies on a dragon with three heads, and her army's ten times bigger than the Lannisters. We're headed to a death trap I tell you."

The other lay behind him but answered with his eyes closed, "You idiot, she has three dragons, and they're too small to be ridden. Little flames, no more. The Queen has wildfire, caches by the hundreds. She'll destroy the Targaryen bitch before they even land on shore. And then the Queen will pay us in gold."

She smiled as she realized they were both idiots. She'd heard of the Targaryen Queen in Braavos, when she'd been blind and begging. Two slaves recently from Mereen, said that she'd nearly been killed there when her dragon had appeared, burned many of the men that tried to kill her, and flew off with her on his back.

"She'll have to do it quick, I heard the fleet will reach Dorne any day now. The Targaryen will be in the capital soon."

Her smile disappeared as the man spoke. She was all for this new Queen with dragon blood, but Cersei was on her list. She did not want her chance to be stolen, like it had with Joffrey and Tywin Lannister. She sat up quickly yet soundlessly. She'd had the feeling the capital was where she'd been heading, but it felt good now, to have a set destination, and goal.

She left the Lannister men behind her as she darted from one branch to another, feeling the thrill of two deaths heading her way. She would end Cersei before the new Queen arrived, but before that she would take out her father's executioner, Ser Ilyn Payne.

She reached the capital two days later, and snuck in by skill alone. All the gates were heavily guarded, and everyone was interrogated, and she watched for more than a day before she found her way in. She was glad she had no intention of leaving the city while the Lannisters ruled.

She found him easily enough. He'd taken to his vocation with ardour when Cersei had become ruler. She watched him chop off some poor bastard's head, and though he said not a word, she could see the glee in his eyes whenever a head rolled to the ground.

She was not happy when she realized he no longer had her father's sword; she'd planned on taking his head with it, and returning the blade to Winterfell.

Before she killed Ser Ilyn, she watched the kingslayer. She'd tried to get at Cersei but she was too heavily guarded. She'd only get one chance at her, and she would kill Payne first so the mad queen would know she was coming. Ser Jaime looked much the same as he had in the Riverlands, but he seemed much more preoccupied. The golden haired twins were never together it seemed, and she was surprised to find he spent his days trying to settle conflicts, and often bribed soldiers and goldcloaks to keep their mouths shut.

When the city spoke of nothing but Daenerys' fleet, and how it filled both the Sea of Dorne and the Summer Sea, she decided it was time to put an end to the Queen's executioner. It took her a few days to find her moment, he was always needed it seemed, and she used the face of a girl to get to him. Most men did not seem to suspect girls of being able to kill them, but ser Ilyn was not most men.

The minute she entered the executioner's chambers, he pulled a dagger from his belt, and bared it at her. She returned the gesture by peeling off her face, and pulling Needle from the folds of her skirt.

"I'd hoped to kill you with my father's blade, but it seems Needle will have to do."

She's not sure if he knew who she was, but she hardly cared. This was only the hand that had slain her father, all that mattered was that he die, slowly and painfully.

She stepped forward, but he did not move.

"You like cutting people's heads off," She said, her tone matter of fact.

When he blinked, she continued, "You like them tied up, so they can't move, like you couldn't when they cut out your tongue."

He blinked again.

"I'm going to cut off your head as you cut off my father's, but my blade is not meant for hacking."

She held up her Needle as if to show him, and took another step closer.

"This won't be easy so I'll need to make you a bit more pliant first."

And then she lunged. Once, she might have been afraid to face ser Ilyn, but she'd faced the Waif, wounded and bloody she'd beat her. The Knight was old, and he was no fighter, only a butcher.

She tricked him easily in her first attack, and sliced him on his upper right arm. He looked down for a moment at the dark streak on his torn woolen sleeve, then rushed towards her his blade pointed at her throat. She ducked his attack and managed to slide her needle across his thigh. He turned towards her quickly, grasping at his leg with his free hand, his face mad with rage, but did not move. Instead he held his dagger tightly, and waited for her next attack.

She smiled at his tenacity, knowing it would do him no good. She decided however, that she would take no more risks. She was ready to be done with him and to move onto her next target, Cersei.

She rushed towards him but as he aimed his blade her way she was already behind him and the moment his back was exposed, she slid her blade into his spine, and he fell to his knees silently, and then forward to the ground. She'd been careful not to kill him, but she was not entirely sure she'd paralyzed him fully, so she kicked his dagger away, and slid it into the fold of her dress where Needle had been hiding.

When he still did not get up, she realized she'd been successful, and so she grinned as she rolled him to his back. She moved so she stood near his left ear and knelt beside him. She brought her blade down close to his neck, blood sliding down to the floor the minute steel touched skin. She'd been sharpening it everyday since she realized Ice was gone, to make sure it would cut through bone.

"This is for my father, lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell."

She began to saw, blood gushing from his soft neck as she pressed down, and though he had no tongue, he tried to scream but all that came was a gurgle of blood.

And then nothing.


	7. Roofs

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years,  
And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way with tears.  
It's a rough road, and a steep road and it stretches broad and far,  
But it leads at last to a golden town where golden houses are._

 _from Roofs by Joyce Kilmer_

 **Daenerys**

æ

The journey to her homeland was long and arduous though they'd made a stop in Dorne for a rest and provisions. She'd taken a tour of the city, and met the many daughters of prince Oberyn, also known as the Sand Snakes. They were fierce girls, and though she quite liked them, she was not sure she trusted them entirely either. Their bravado seemed to get the better of them.

It was there that Lord Varys received word that Queen Cersei had begun to quietly get rid of anyone who defied her, and punished those who publicly spoke out against her by locking them in the cells under the Red Keep, for weeks at a time. Behind closed doors, the people had come to call her the 'Mad Queen'. Not much was said of her brother, it seemed he was not often seen in the City nor the Red Keep.

The Queen however, was followed night and day by a man as large as a mountain, who was called as much. He did not speak, but he killed on command. The people feared him, and said he was a dead man walking, and that he'd once ripped the head off a man who'd tried to touch Cersei. She was not worried much, dead men burned as easily as living ones.

It was then that she realized however, that other than Grey Worm, who was commander of the Unsullied, she had no sword to protect her. Ser Barristan was dead, Ser Jorah gone, and Daario remained in Mereen. She had her hand, she needed her queensguard as well. The problem now, would be who to choose.

With not much else to do, she brought the topic up with Tyrion, and Lord Varys. Missandei was there as well, but Grey Worm was off seeing to his men.

"Perhaps for now you ought to carry a guard of Unsullied, commander Grey Worm's most trusted. Or Dothraki, if you would prefer. I do not suggest both."

Tyrion smiled, "What? Don't you think former slaves and slavers will not want to protect the Queen as equals?"

Varys returned the gesture without mirth, "I only think it best not to find out."

She could not deny the truth in that.

"I think Unsullied. I would not want the Dothraki to think I need protection. Though I think four ought to do. Once I sit the throne I will appoint my formal guard."

"That will not be an easy task, your Grace, " Her hand said, adding, "I do not envy you."

She smiled, "Come now Tyrion, as hand of the Queen, this task will fall on you as well."

His grin seemed to falter, and Varys cracked a smile.

"Imagine Lord Tyrion, soon you will be hand in a new realm, as Westeros will be much changed, you will be busy with so many tasks, this will seem like a breeze."

"Thank you Lord Varys," He said, though he did not seem grateful, "I did not think I had enough to worry about."

The Master of Whispers said nothing, only nodded, his grin broadening as he did so.

She spoke then, "Lord Tyrion makes a good effort to seem as if he will not enjoy every minute of it, though he should know none of us are fooled."

She looked at him and saw that he'd been properly beaten by the red tinge that covered his cheeks.

"Pity,"He finally said, "I thought I was doing quite well."

 **æ**

They were close enough for her to fly the rest of the way, so she did. Her dragons took to Dragonstone as a bird took to air, and as she entered the castle, she knew she was home. There were still remnants of Baratheon, but it did not matter. This island would always belong to her family, and the sight of dragons all about gave her strength for what was to come.

As she waited for the rest of her fleet to arrive, she used the time to get to know the land and castle. Her children had found dwellings of their own, and she knew they would be safe here.

Surely word had reached King's Landing that her fleet filled the Narrow Sea. She wondered what the 'Mad Queen' thought of that, wondered if the people thought her their saviour. She was not sure of it herself, Daario called her a conqueror, and she could not help feel it as well. If the ruler was a just one, would she stand by and let them rule? She did not think so.

By the morning of the third day she saw the tops of the sails in the distance, her fleet would arrive my midday, and she would know the lay of her land, and plan her attack.

* * *

thanks for reading. reviews are always appreciated.


	8. An Essay On Criticism

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _Of all the causes which conspire to blind man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind,  
What the weak head with strongest bias rules, is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.  
If once right reason drives that cloud away, truth breaks upon us with resistless day.  
Trust not yourself: but your defects to know, make use of every friend- and every foe._

 _A little learning is a dangerous thing; drink deep...  
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, and drinking largely sobers us again._

 _from An Essay on Criticism: Part 2 by Alexander Pope_

 **Tyrion**

†

He'd never visited Dragonstone before, on account of it being home to Lord Stannis, who was much too serious a fellow to tempt Tyrion into sharing a roof with the man. Before, he might have considered it sort of a dank, clammy place, but with the dragons roaming in all places, burning fires to eat or for some reason he did not know, the place was almost magical, perhaps in part due to the added theatricality of the dragons and mythical creatures that decorated the vast castle. He would have been glad to stay here, but knew it was not meant to last.

He looked out onto the sea, the fleet dotted the coastline in various sizes depending on how close they were, as he waited for Lord Varys. They had agreed to meet in an unused tower overlooking the water, and it was colder than he'd expected. He'd been tempted to leave when five and twenty minutes passed and Varys did not arrive.

In that moment, a breeze entered the room along with the spider, who was covered fully by a dark cloak.

"It's about time," He said, glancing at the man's outer layer enviously. "I'm freezing my balls off."

"My apologies, Lord Tyrion," Varys replied, closing the door behind him quietly.

"Seeing as I do not run such a risk, I'd be glad to offer you my cloak."

He moved to take it off but Tyrion interrupted him, "Don't bother. What have you for me?"

The eunuch stopped his movements, and brought his hands down, locking them at his waist. He moved a little closer paying no mind to the dusty old room.

"It seems King's Landing is near impenetrable, which is why I was delayed. My only spy had quite a time getting out of the city. They do bring much information though."

Tired of the view and more intrigued in what secrets Varys had brought, Tyrion moved from the small window, and sat in one of the small stools left in the room, listening intently.

"The Queen remains the same, feared and hated now that her ways are commonly known."

"That sounds like much of what we already knew," He replied sadly.

He'd never been close to his sister, and he had as little love for her as she had for him, yet he was filled with sorrow knowing one day, someone would have to end her life. There would never be any peace with Cersei.

"There is also word of your brother, the Kingslayer, though they call him the Knight Of Mercy now, though only in whispers."

This shocked him, but he did not speak so Varys could explain.

"It seems he emerged from hiding when your sister had her first public execution. From then on, he's been seen patrolling the city, handling situations before they are brought to the Queen."

"So he's hand then," Tyrion said pleasantly surprised considering the circumstances, "As I am."

Varys grinned lightly, "In a manner of sorts, Qyburn holds the title officially. Still, I have not explained why he has earned this new nickname, not entirely. Your brother it seems, is the Queen's new executioner."

This seemed to contradict everything the Master of Whispers had just said, and so he could not hide the shocked expression, and he'd long since forgotten the cold.

"Ser Ilyn Payne was found dead only recently, his head chopped off though they say not very cleanly. Ser Jaime offered his sword. Surprisingly, the queen accepted, but the Knight of Mercy does not cut their heads off, nor does he hang them. It is said, he burns them in the dragons pit."

This, he could not believe. They had called him Kingslayer, but Tyrion knew he'd killed the Mad King to save the kingdom. He could not believe he loved Cersei enough to murder for her.

"Do not worry, my lord," Varys said then.

"Either Cersei feigns knowledge, or she is truly blind I cannot say, but the people seem to revere your brother. They know he keeps them from her wrath, and when he cannot, he offers mercy. That is, they believe he takes their lives quickly, and burns them for the gods, though some say for her."

He had not expected this, though he knew his brother to be good, with a nickname like 'Kingslayer', he never thought the people would ever see him as he was, noble and honourable. Still, he could not believe even that Jaime would kill them in mercy, or to appease his sister.

Varys continued as if reading his mind, "There is a hidden passage that leads out to the sea, few know of it anymore. Only a select few who served under the Mad King."

The implication was clear, Lord Varys knew of it himself. As did Jaime.

"So he does not burn them, he frees them."

The master of whispers nodded, and remained silent.

"I must admit, I am relieved," He let out a breath to that effect and stood. He was about ready to leave this frigid tower by the sea, and his old friend seemed to have delivered all his whispers.

As he stepped towards the door, he realized he was wrong.

Varys did not even seem to notice, for he continued, "There may still be time to save your brother, my lord. And the lives of countless others, innocent and soldier alike."

In that moment the spider turned to look at the stool he'd until recently been occupying and as he realized he was not there, turned to look about the room. Varys seemed puzzled by his movements, and there was no point in telling him, so Tyrion addressed his words instead.

"How so?" he asked simply, though he had a feeling he knew.

In his usual grave yet detached manner, Varys answered, "He must slay the Queen."

†

He was sitting in front of the fire, a cup of wine in hand and a large pitcher of it as his side, considering the spider's words. He'd not liked the proposal, hated the idea of asking his brother to murder his lover and sister, but the more he thought of it, the more sense it made. It was clear Cersei was capable of anything to keep her reign, and burning everyone in King's Landing as the Mad King had once, did not seem past her. Cersei would die, of that he was certain, but if he could save his brother, who was good despite it all, and avoid the loss of more lives, then her death would be worth it. And so, he agreed.

Varys had kept his spy in Dragonstone, to wait for his decision, as once they got back in King's landing, it was likely they would not be able to leave again. In a fortnight, Tyrion himself would go, as a plot as thick as theirs, could not be given to anyone, and it was probable he would be the only one to succeed in convincing Ser Jaime to play his part. He knew it was a risk to his life, but he knew his brother would not betray him, he hoped at least.

It was at this thought that Queen Daenerys entered, glancing at the table of Westeros as she moved to sit beside him.

"Good evening your Grace," He said solemnly as she sat.

She moved slowly, and he knew she was tired, as she did not return the greeting.

"What did you need to speak of?" She asked, her eyes weary.

It was late already, and she'd spent the day visiting her armies on their many boats, to inspire them for battle. Little did she know, if their plan worked, her men had traveled all this distance for nothing.

"There are many important issues we must discuss your Grace, but tonight, I will only mention two. The first being of the utmost importance hence the hour of this late meeting, the second, mostly so that you may have time to consider its viability."

She grinned as he reached to fetch a cup, and poured her some wine from the pitcher at his side.

"I'm listening," She said as he passed it to her and she took a long sip.

He did not return her gesture but he did speak, "Lord Varys has received word of the capital, and as you were away, I made a decision on an urgent matter, though I do not think you will object."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "You are stalling, and I've had a long day."

She did not seem to mind that he'd spoken in her name, though he should not be so surprised, he was her hand after all.

"It seems my brother Jaime is now my sister's executioner, though he sets his victims free instead of burning them as he says. They call him the Knight of Mercy, when my sister and her men are not around of course."

"It seems you are not the only honourable Lannister there is," She said, seeming pleased by this. She did not seem to doubt the news, likely because Varys was good at what he did.

"I'm glad you're convinced my Queen, as in a week I will travel to King's Landing and speak with him myself."

This however, did shock her.

"Whatever for?" She exclaimed.

He took a large gulp of his wine before answering, "To convince him to murder our sister."

For a long moment, she said nothing, but it was obvious she did not initially care for the idea. He had not either, but then, as he did, she must have seen the merits in this plan.

"Is it wise to take the crown through treachery?" She finally asked, though he was not sure if she wanted an answer or not.

"I think not, but thankfully, I'm very good at making treachery not seem so treacherous."

His lips turned up, but it was a depressing display, and he drank again from his cup.

"It is not a pretty game we play."

"We need not discuss the details tonight," She continued after a moment's silence. "What was the other matter you wished for me to think on?"

He finally turned to look at her. "What a world we live in that we talk of killing and then of marriage right after."

"Who's marriage?" She asked surprised.

"Yours of course, your Grace," he replied, leaning back into his chair, swirling his wine before taking a sip.

He was not surprised to find that while news, and all matters truly, from the capital were grim, what else he'd learned from the spider in that tower, had not displeased him.

She smirked at him, "Who am I marrying this time?"

"Lord Varys did not only receive word from the capital. His birds in the north, which he has managed to retain, have finally appeared now that he's close enough to them."

"We're not close to the north," She said dubiously.

He grinned, "Right to my point. It seems the North has declared a new King, and the Vale, ruled by Lord Baelish who holds the heir, Robin Arryn, which sits just above us, has declared for him. It seems also, that Walder Frey and his sons are dead, someone freed his son-in law, and Riverrun has been retaken by Edmure Tully and he's declared for this King as well. The three combined..." He trailed off.

"Make up more than half my kingdom?" She finished for him, not entirely pleased with this news. Somehow, this information seemed more grave to her than having his brother kill his sister.

"You would have me marry this traitor? If we take the capital without bloodshed, what is to stop me from taking the North with it instead? They will bend the knee or my dragons will melt ice, boil water and turn rock to dust."

He did not address her words of war, he was accustomed to the fire in her blood, and was glad she was capable of reasoning once the embers blew out.

"They are not your enemies, your Grace. The North is an old place, and the people loyal to their own. It will not be won with ease, not by force. Especially not now that winter is upon us. The northerners will not have forgotten what our fathers have done to their liege lord's family, so we cannot hope to sway them to our side and the land is vast, not so easily tamed. No, marriage is a much better tool for this job, it will last longer as well."

He paused as he reached for the pitcher of wine, and offered some to the Queen first. When she held out her cup, he stretched to pour her some, and luckily did not spill any. She nodded in thanks, and he poured himself before resuming.

"The King they named is but the bastard of their great Lord Eddard Stark, and the only male left to his bloodline. I met the man when he was a boy of four and ten, but he was a good lad, even then. A true Stark in all but name. As for the lords of the Riverlands and the Vale, they both swear fealty, though for different reasons, for the lovely Lady Sansa. Formally Lady Bolton, and before that Lady Lannister."

He'd already told her of Sansa, and how he'd been forced to marry her, how they'd never consummated said marriage. He thought of her sometimes, and her beauty, and wondered how much more beautiful she must be now that she was no longer a child. But he did not miss her, he had never loved her, not truly.

"Lord Edmure is her uncle, and Littlefinger no doubt wants her by his side as he'd once wanted her mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, though he must have other intentions. Lord Baelish is not a man led by his cock."

She grimaced slightly at his last words, but she seemed to be growing accustomed to his slanderous tongue. He smirked though he returned to the issue at hand.

"The Riverlands will pledge easily after you secure the Starks, and all you'll have to worry about is Littlefinger. We must only pry him from the Vale's heir. Lord Arryn is Lady Sansa's cousin after all.""

She looked at him as if she was thinking of other things, but she said nothing about it at least.

"Well, you have brought it to my attention, and I will consider it. Agreed?"

He nodded, and then held his cup out. She tapped her's against his and they both sipped their wine. They were celebrating, either his sister's death, or her upcoming nuptials, he was not sure.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and for the interest in my story! I'm trying to follow cannon as much as I can, but I've only read the first book, and half the second. So it's based on the Tv series only. Though I've done some research online for family names and history and stuff like that.

Anyways, as always, reviews are appreciated!


	9. Reconciliation

Not my best chapter. Sorry for the delay!

* * *

 _Some may have blamed you that you took away the verses that could move them on the day  
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind with lightning…  
and I could find nothing to make a song about but kings, helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things…_

 _For the world lives as long ago; and while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,  
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit…  
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone._

 _from Reconciliation by William Butler Yeats_

 **Jon**

❄️

His squire arrived with a message brought by raven just as Littlefinger informed him of the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter. He slid open the small scroll, aware of Lord Baelish's attentive eyes while he read the message from Ser Davos.

King Jon,

All is well. More will reach soon.

Ser Davos of House Seaworth

He rolled the small slip of paper and slid it inside his glove, next to his scarred hand. He hadn't said much in word, but Jon understood everything he meant. It seemed he could trust the Tully's for now, and a rider would soon arrive with the details.

"She holds Dragonstone once more, and her three _large_ dragons roam the sky over it. She has a little more than a thousand ships, the Narrow Sea is quite literally filled with her fleet."

He turned to look at the man, and Littlefinger seemed genuinely bothered by this fact. No doubt she presented a great threat to his plans, whatever they were. He did not like this Lord Baelish, and did not trust him, but he had no choice. For now it seemed he was on their side, and Jon would attempt to take advantage of that fact.

"She seeks the iron throne, which luckily lies East of even the Vale. Let her take it and the South, and end the Mad Queen's reign," He answered simply.

Littlefinger did not seem happy with this answer, as he expected. He's not sure what the man had hoped to hear, but Jon had known one thing when Lord Baelish had mentioned Queen Daenerys' arrival. He'd listed all the titles she boasted, but the only one that mattered to him was the one that named her Mother of Dragons. She was a Targaryen and she sailed for Westeros with her thousand ships. She would fight for the throne, and when it was hers as he knew it would someday be, he would need to convince her to join his fight. She and her dragons were likely the difference between life and death, and he would do whatever it took, his pride or his life, to get her help.

"She will seek out the North once she takes the crown," He argued, then almost a moment too late he added, "Your Grace."

Jon smiled, "If what you say is true, there is little we can do to stop her. As you well know Lord Baelish, I do not have the men. When she comes, we will do what we must. Our war is not in the South."

He turned to Sansa, hoping she was on his side.

"King Jon is right. It would be folly to attempt any talk with a Targaryen, the last time a Stark has done so, our grandfather and uncle were burned alive. In fact, the last time a Stark left the North, our father and brother were killed by Walder Frey and the Lannisters."

Littlefinger looked at her intensely, nearly smiling, though not entirely with affection, but he nodded and said nothing. Jon tried hard not to think of Rickon, who'd died by the hands of a northerner, and Sansa who'd known all along that it would happen.

The lord of the Fingers turned to him, "Everything is well in the Riverlands, your Grace?"

He figured nothing passed him by, and so he answered, "I ought to ask you Lord Baelish, you are likely better informed than I."

His lips went up though it was clearly meditated, "I am informed of certain things I admit, but only so that I may inform the Lord of the Vale. Ser Davos is a clever man your Grace, he keeps close guard of his secrets, an excellent choice for the task after all."

He nodded, understanding what Littlefinger truly meant, and Jon could not deny, the man was cunning.

"It seems the North has not erred entirely in naming me King."

With that, he stood. He could not take another moment of this conversation, and he knew he needed to get word to the guard that a rider from the south would arrive any day soon.

"Well if you'll excuse me Lord Baelish, sister. There are some other matters I must attend to. I will see you both later, in the great hall."

Sansa nodded and their companion stood and bowed slightly.

"Your Grace," He said.

He left the solar unworried, Lady Brienne was there after all.

❄️

As he stepped out a gust of wind whipped by him, and he felt cleansed by it. He was used to always feeling the cold pressed against him like a tight embrace, but now he spent his days in the castle, where the springs kept it warm, and the hearths made it hot. Sometimes in his chambers, he would open the windows wide, and let the room fill with cold. Then he'd grin, remembering how he'd hated the chill in his quarters when he'd been a man of the night's watch.

He had no need to deliver the message himself, but he'd needed a respite. The courtyard had always been his spot, when he was a kid he loved jousting with Robb and Theon under the guidance of Ser Rodrick. With their wooden sticks, it had always been a place where he was just another boy amongst his siblings.

After he spoke with the guard, and started walking back, though by a different route, he heard the clang of metal on metal. He was close to the armoury, and wondered if it was his new addition, Gendry.

When Sansa had whispered in his ear that he was likely the bastard son of Robert Baratheon, and though Jon had only seen the man when he'd come to Winterfell, he could see the resemblance. And she'd already told him of the day the goldcloaks, led under Janos Slynt, whom he'd executed, had killed more than a dozen children throughout the capital. It seemed likely, though there was no way to prove it.

He moved towards the clanging, when he opened the door he saw the man hammering away, wearing a tunic though the arms were cut off, and thick black gloves on his hands. He didn't realize Jon was there until he stopped to temper the blade and stuck it into the cool water.

When he noticed, he bowed, and said, "Your Grace," but did not remove his blade from the liquid. When it was ready, he pulled it out and laid it down.

"My apologies King Jon, a blade must be properly cooled, otherwise it could easily crack."

"There is no need. I heard your hammer, so I thought to see how you were settling in."

"Very well thank you your Grace, though I'm not quite accustomed to the cold yet."

He motioned to the tunic he wore and continued, "I would be wearing my cloak if it did not bother my work."

Jon smirked, "It takes some time to get used to."

"That it does," He replied.

"Have you begun your training yet?"

He hadn't seen much of Gendry since he'd arrived, but looking at the man reminded him of the old king and he knew that here stood the last stag, though he was as much a Baratheon as he was a Stark, which he was not. Still, he was king, and there was hope yet for his fellow bastard.

He did not smile exactly though there was mirth in his expression when he answered, "Tomorrow, your Grace."

"And have you chosen your weapon?"

He half expected a warhammer, but then the man signalled to the longsword he'd just tempered as he replied.

"A longsword. I figure with my size, I'll have no problem wielding it."

He grinned, and wanted to tell him that was not what mattered most, but didn't. Perhaps the sword was for him, and if it wasn't, well he'd soon find out.

"I do not doubt it."

There was a moment of silence, and Jon found himself thinking of his brothers in black. Curious, he could not avoid the question.

"How did you meet Yoren?"

Jon had known the man only a short time and hardly at that, but had judged him a brute with little idea of honour, and yet, it seemed he was wrong.

Gendry twitched a little before answering, "My master sent me to the wall. Course, I never made it."

Somehow he was not surprised by this information, though it seemed his companion had just realized the error in his admission, likely realizing he'd once been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, which now felt like ages ago to him.

"Do not worry," He said before the armourer could explain himself.

"I'm not a brother of the watch anymore, and you have broken no vow."

Gendry did not speak, but he nodded gratefully.

He did not like thinking on the night's watch, it only reminded him of what his brothers had done, and that he was no longer the same man he'd once been. In truth, he had a hard time not feeling envious of the man's choice. Had Jon not become a crow, his life could be vastly different, maybe even his brother Robb might still be alive.

He returned then to his curiosity, deciding it was of no use to think on such things.

On the Wall, they had heard that Yoren and his recruits, had been slain on the road by his brother's enemy. There had been no survivors, or so it'd been said.

"He was killed in the Riverlands by Lannister men, is this how he saved your life?"

He seemed surprised Jon knew this, but he replied in any case.

"Yes, your Grace."

This did not surprise him, for though his brother Yoren had been rough, Jon knew he was not an evil man.

"Were you the only one?" He asked then.

Gendry hesitated for a long moment before finally answering, "No your Grace, there were others. Though I could not say how many still live."

It did not seem like a topic he felt like speaking of, so Jon decided he would not press further, though he wanted to.

So he said, "It seems you have still ended up serving in the North. Though I will not ask you to take no wife."

He'd attempted humour, in spite of the fact that he was not very good at it, and it had not been particularly funny. Gendry grinned genuinely though, seeming to have appreciated it.

"Someday surely, I'll be grateful of that your Grace."

By his expression, Jon wondered if perhaps he had a sweetheart in the Riverlands, and that was why he hoped to better himself. Of course, he did not say so. Jon had no such hopes for himself, not only because he'd once been sworn by vow, and before, as a bastard, he would have no name to give his children, and he would not condemn them to his same fate. Now he was king, yet the future did not seem certain.

"And I will be glad to see such a day."

Jon did not think Gendry understood his meaning, though he would soon. He felt heavy with what was to come, somehow his conversation with the man lead his mind to grim matters he did not want to think of.

"I will let you return to your blade, you will need it tomorrow no doubt. Lord Glover is a skillful swordsman, and an honourable man. He will teach you well."

"Thank you your Grace," He said simply, bowing.


	10. A Rendezvous With Death

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _I have a rendezvous with Death... It may be he shall take my hand, and lead me into his dark land,  
And close my eyes and quench my breath- It may be I shall pass him still...  
But I've a rendezvous with Death at midnight in some flaming town, when Spring trips north again this year;  
And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous._

 _from I Have A Rendezvous With Death by Alan Seeger_

 **Tyrion**

†

With only two days to his departure, Queen Daenerys decided she would fly over the city on Drogon's back to help distract the guards watching over the bay, and everyone else in the city likely, while he snuck in. He appreciated the gesture, though he was more worried about what happened inside than what happened to him on his approach.

He left before she did, sailing on a small boat manned by Ironborn, down the coast. It would almost be dark by the time he reached the Bay, and with their natural skills at sea and Daenerys' display, he had no doubt he would get in. After that, he was not so sure.

Varys' spy would reach his brother Jaime with a simple message, "On the eve the sky burns black, a monster waits in the dragon's mouth for peace, or mercy."

Tyrion alone would enter through the old secret entrance, and find his kin or his enemy, and as he began to walk the long tunnel, he hoped these weren't his last moments as a free man. As he slid a false wall, he saw the glow of a torch. He walked slowly but steadily towards the light, trying hard not to make noise. He heard nothing, and felt no movement as he entered the vast chamber. He saw Bronn first, leaning against the wall, a wineskin in hand. At the sight of his old friend the pit in his gut disappeared. He saw his brother when he stood abruptly, nervous and alert.

"Tyrion," He said, sounding glad yet wary.

"Jaime, brother. Bet you had not thought to see me again."

He flashed a smile before turning to the other man, who had now approached them.

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, how relieved I am to see you at my brother's side. I suddenly have the sneaking suspicion that you're the spider's spy."

He smiled his usual lazy grin, "I am fucking her, so in a way, I suppose so. And I'm the Queen's lover's right hand man, gives me some leeway. And your brother's not crazy like your sister, so there's that."

"And I owe you a lordship and castle, don't think you're going anywhere anytime soon," Jaime spoke finally, his voice serious.

Tyrion decided to ignore it and said to Bronn, "Let me guess, Cersei cheated you out of marrying Lollys?"

"Aye she did, but at least the Mountain did not crush my head like an egg."

"There is that," He grinned.

He nodded to his brother, "I hear he's quite the hero these days."

"He's got a soft spot for the small folk," Bronn replied.

Jaime seemed to finally tire of being excluded as he said suddenly, "Why are you here Tyrion?"

They both turned to look at the Knight of Mercy as they called him, and Bronn decided it was time to let them speak as he took a step back, and pulled out his wineskin again, this time sitting.

He finally sobered up, and regarded his brother with equal seriousness.

"A lot has changed since I left Westeros, including me."

 _And you as well, by the looks of it_. He'd never seen his brother this way, nervous and solemn, and he'd lost weight and darkness circled his eyes.

"It seems so. You serve the Targaryen Queen now, and I serve her enemy, our sister Queen Cersei," Jaime spoke with conviction, but Tyrion could tell it was not entirely genuine.

"If that is so, then why are you saving her enemies?"

Jaime had been standing absolutely still, but he sat once more at his words.

"They are not her enemies, not truly. She just cannot see it," He answered, looking more broken than Tyrion had ever seen him.

He realized that though Jaime seemed to hope she would come to her senses, he'd realized as well, that she needed to be stopped, one way or another. Tyrion stepped closer to his brother, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"She will never stop," He said solemnly.

"And either my Queen will put an end to her reign or-"

Jaime interrupted him, "I wondered if this is why you came. You wish for me to murder our _sister_ , my-" He stopped.

Tyrion dropped his arm to his side, suddenly wanting to have done with it.

"I was going to say 'or another will', but why sugar coat it? Yes. I have come to ask this of you brother, not to hurt you, but to prevent more bloodshed. She is our sister, but she cannot be allowed to continue as she does. She will burn this entire city and everyone in it and you must put an end to her cruelty before it is too late. It is your duty."

"I love her!" Jaime exclaimed suddenly, trying in vain to fight against what he surely knew to be right.

He waited a moment before he continued, "She is my blood just as you are, what of my duty to her?"

Tyrion's tone softened as he answered, "There has never been love between Cersei and I, but I cannot believe that this mad Queen is our sister anymore, nor who she ever wanted to be. She is warped and skewed by the death of her children, and what those fanatics did to her. An end to her misery, this is your duty to her. Mercy."

And then Jaime dropped his head, and through his tears Tyrion saw him nod.

He looked to Bronn who seemed nearly broken up about what Jaime had agreed to, but he only took a swallow from his skin of wine, and offered it to Tyrion. For the first time in a long time, he nodded no, then turned to his brother.

"Queen Daenerys and her fleet will arrive in Blackwater Bay in three days, by which time you will have convinced Cersei to play at peace. We Lannisters are famous for our treachery, surely she will not doubt nor dislike this plan of yours. She will invite her rival into the city and the Red Keep, where you will slay her."

Jaime looked up as he finished, "You wish me to kill the Targaryen?' He asked confused, his cheeks wet.

"You will not kill Daenerys brother… you will give our sister mercy. And the rightful Queen will pardon you."

Jaime did not say anything, seemingly considering this so called plan. Tyrion turned to the Ser, whom he'd known for a long time now.

"I will get you your Lordship and your castle, I promise you. You only need make sure Jaime does his part."

"You'll be the third Lannister to offer, and though 'the Lannisters always pay their debts' I am no lord and I have no young bride to my name."

"Third luck's a charm. And i'm a dwarf, should be extra lucky," He smiled pleadingly.

When he wasn't sure it worked he added, "She will take the iron throne, I am certain. Whether with my brother's help or the lives of thousands, she will take it. I am her hand. A lordship for the man who helped her get the throne is hardly asking much."

Still he did not speak.

"This Lannister has always paid his debts, and you would not be a Ser without me, I think you owe me this much. I do not ask you to risk your life, only that you make sure he risks his."

"Alright, alright. No need to beg," His old friend finally answered. "Just make sure I get that castle and wife."

"Done," He nodded gratefully.

"What will happen to me?" Jaime asked suddenly, though it did not seem like he cared much.

"She will let you return as Lord to Casterly Rock with your armies, once you swear fealty."

"Is my sister's death not payment enough? Must I rule a land I never wanted to as well?"

Tyrion did not want to scold his brother, but his family tended to only consider their own feelings in matters that affected many.

"You cannot return to the kingsguard, not for a third reign. And you are not innocent Jaime, none of us are. We have all done things... and we all pay for our choices. This is your payment, harsh though it may seem. Our sister Cersei has already paid with the lives of your children, it is time she cross the toll. And believe me the alternative is much worse."

What else is there for you here?

"I suppose they'll call me the Queenslayer now. I admit, it has a better ring to it."

He wondered if his brother did not know the nickname the people had already bestowed upon him, but decided it best not to say, not yet. He would do his duty with a heavy hand, and Tyrion did not think it kind to remind him the people loved him for opposing her.

He left shortly after everything had been arranged and they had discussed some of the other details. His ironborn men brought him back up the coast, the sun not full in the sky by the time they left the Bay. He did not think it wise to linger, and when Daenerys entered King's Landing he would stay on deck until his sister was dead. He did not wish to make her suffer the knowledge of Jaime's betrayal. Once she saw Tyrion, she would know, and she would hate Jaime in her final moments, and he would not do that to his brother.

They reunited with her fleet a day later, and when they arrived in King's Landing as promised, it had not taken more than half a day for his sister the Mad Queen to invite them into the Red Keep. And though Lord Varys and Queen Daenerys and the rest of them rejoiced in the knowledge that she'd fallen for their ploy and Jaime bent knee, he could not help feel sorrow for his brother, who would have his lover's blood on his hands.

Soon they would have this in common as well.


	11. Superscription

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _Look in my face; my name is Might-have been; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;  
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea-shell cast up thy Life's form and Love's,  
But by my spell is now a shaken shadow intolerable… Mark me, how still I am!  
But should there dart one moment through thy soul the soft surprise  
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,-  
Then thou shalt see me smile, and turn apart thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart  
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes._

 _from A Superscription by Dante Gabriel Rossetti_

 **Daenerys**

æ

"Fire cannot kill a dragon."

A part of the Red Keep lay broken behind her, and it did not matter. It was hers by right and she'd taken it with blood and fire. As she emerged naked and reborn from the burning embers of the fire that the usurper Cersei Lannister had tried to engulf her in, she felt renewed. As always there was no shame in her nudity in the eyes of those all around her, they barely seemed to register it, even without her dragons about her.

When she'd embarked for Westeros, she couldn't help but worry that the people she wished to aid, whose lives she wanted to change for the better, would reject her. However, thanks to 'the Mad Queen', as Cersei was called behind closed doors, Daenerys had been welcomed, with her seasoned Unsullied, brutish Dothraki, unruly Ironborn and the willful Dornish men and women, perceived as savages each in their own right. The Tyrell's had been welcomed months before, as Margery became Queen and beloved by the people. They were the only exception, a noble house though they were clever and cunning, and therefore dangerous in their own way.

And now, in King's Landing at least, there was but one left to bend the knee.

As she descended the steps and moved further away from the flames, Missandei appeared as if from nowhere, seemingly prepared for this moment she gently placed a black silk gown on her shoulders. Her arms slid through easily as her translator moved to tie the dress around her waist.

"Cersei, of the house Lannister," As she finished so did Missandei, and as her friend moved back, her enemy moved forward.

It was only by the grace of her brother beside her, his hand at her elbow edging her forward, his mouth at her ear, that seemed to move her. There was an unmistakeable look of mad hatred across her older but still beautiful face as their eyes connected, and Daenerys felt a momentary stab of pity for the Queen who resembled her father more than she ever would.

As they reached her, Ser Jaime dropped his good hand, glancing momentarily at his sister with heavy eyes, before looking up at her. Cersei's gaze never wavered from hers, not even when her brother let her go and edged slightly backwards.

"I will not bother to name you usurper nor traitor as there can be no doubt amongst any who stand here today that your loyalty is only to yourself."

"In the great game, there is no middle ground," Cersei finally spoke, her voice defiant, the omission of 'your Grace' not going unnoticed from the crowd around them.

Her eyes softened as she replied, "Indeed you are right."

She turned her pitying eyes away from the imposter queen, and turned instead to the people who watched in silence.

"You have been brought here today not only to swear fealty to the crown, and to pay for the harm you have inflicted among the seven kingdoms, and the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of innocents as you played your game."

Her eyes found Ser Jaime's then, the kingslayer, and though she wanted to feel contempt for the man who murdered her father, knowing what his sister had done to this city, she understood his motives.

"You will fulfill the oath you swore to the rightful crown of the seven kingdoms, and to the people of Westeros once and for all."

* * *

a/n:Super short chapter, but i'm posting the next today or tomorrow at the latest. Fun fact: this is actually where I started this fic. I added the earlier chapters as I thought a little back drop would help set up some themes and storylines i'll be working in, good news is the next few chapters will be posted before 2016 ends.

Thanks for reading and subscribing, reviews are always appreciated.


	12. Requiem: The Soldier

Special Appearance POV: Cersei Lannister. Hope you enjoy!

warning: Cersei and Jaime mention (though no smut).

Also, let me make a musical recommendation (before/during or after): Monster by Meg Myers is perfectly suited to this chapter, check it out. Let me know what you think.

* * *

 _They are speaking together of what they loved in vain here,  
but the air is too thin to carry the things they say.  
They were young and golden, but they came on pain here,  
and their youth is age now, their gold is grey._

 _Yet their hearts are not changed and they cry to one another,  
"What have they done with the lives we laid aside?"  
Are they young with our youth, gold with our gold, my brother?  
Do they smile in the face of death because we died?_

 _from Requiem: The Soldier by Humbert Wolfe_

 **Cersei**

ç

All her life, Jaime had been the one constant; her blood, her twin, someone to trust and to love. After he'd returned from his capture in the North, that had all changed, for a time. Then their son had died, and they were once more the only two in all the world. It is not without irony that the death of their second son, their last son, did it change once more. She'd known it the moment their eyes locked when she'd sat on the throne; he'd returned, but he would never come back to her. Not willingly.

That night, after the celebration which was not what one could call joyous, she stole to Jaime's chambers where he sat with a glass of wine, staring out at the stars. He was not pleased when he saw her, she could tell, but she used her charm, the weapon between her legs, and the fact that he loved her still to seduce him, and she had her way with him in the very chair he sat, and then he had her again in his own bed under the stars and the moon and the gods.

When she woke in the morning, he was gone.

She did not see him much from that moment on, unless she summoned him, which she was often too busy to do. For a time she ruled with obedience and fear, but little by little, her hand's little birds brought word of their treason and defiance. The people loathed her and she was always having to punish them for it. They would not love her, but she would ensure they feared her.

Then when word of her own usurper Queen arrived, and Ser Ilyn was killed, she saw no one except Qyburn, and the Mountain never left her side, not until it was necessary.

Only twice did she ever see him without summons; the first, when he'd asked to be her new executioner. He hardly looked her way when he asked for the position, and though she acquiesced he was too relieved to notice the subtle changes in her. She was not feeling well and had been sitting on the throne, a heavy crimson cloak with large gold lions fastening it closed, draped over her though it was not cold. He did not seem to care.

The second time, he appeared the day after the dragon soared the skies over King's Landing.

"She will arrive in the capital in a matter of days, with her dragons… there is no way we can hope to defeat her. We must leave Westeros, it is the only way we will survive."

She was too glad to see his beautiful face to properly reprimand his stupidity, so she only said, "I will burn this city to the ground before I give it to that Targaryen whore."

He did not seem pleased in her reply, and she was not surprised. She knew of course, how he tried to protect the common people, how he loved them, though they were not worth it. She only let him do it, out of love for him. When he'd asked to become her new Ser Ilyn, she thought it appropriate. A proper payment for his disloyalty to her, he would take the lives he could not save.

"What is there left for us here?" He exclaimed. "Are you willing to die for the sake of your pride?"

She looked at him with cold hard eyes, "If I must."

He looked at her for a long moment, until finally she saw his resign, as she knew he would, as he always did. He did not usually agree with her, but he always did as she asked.

"Then you must invite her into the Red Keep to talk peace," He said, his voice solemn and resigned.

"And I will kill her."

She turned to look at him once more, intrigued by his words. Could it be he was finally on her side?

He told her of his plan, and though it was a clever plan worthy of a Lannister, it had its flaws. Her dead husband had always said Dothraki were skilled warriors, and Jaime was not the fighter he'd once been, and she was not confident he could do it. There was too much weakness in him and too much that could go wrong. There was one way that had never failed her, where death was sure. She opened her mouth to tell him this, but he spoke first.

"Where's the Mountain?" He asked suddenly, it seemed he'd only just realized his absence.

"I've sent him on an important mission."

He nodded but did not speak, as if he waited for her to explain. She would not tell him, some kind of sanity amidst her crimson insanity told her that she could not trust him with the knowledge.

"So brother, how do you plan on doing it?" She asked, deciding she would say nothing of her previous thoughts, and thinking of her own plans as he spoke.

ç

The night before the usurper was set to arrive, as she took her sup alone in her chambers, he came to see her. Though he looked gaunt and black rimmed his eyes, he was still beautiful and her heart fluttered as he took a seat at her table and poured himself a cup of wine, refilling hers as well. He drank nonchalantly, and smiled at her, and though he tried to hide it she could see how forlorn he truly was. She was not surprised when he made one last attempt to convince her to flee.

"Cersei, there is still time. Let us abandon this folly, and leave before it is too late for us both."

He reached out to her then, taking his hand in hers, "We're the only two in the world. We have not lost if we have each other."

She smiled, entwining her fingers with his. She imagined them somewhere in the East, him a sellsword perhaps, or a soldier in a vast army, but when she tried to envision herself as his simple wife, a child in her arms, she could not see it because it was not a life meant for her.

She understood his doubt, he'd not been by her side the last time she'd burnt her enemy to a crisp. She had not failed then, and she would not now.

"I will not yield. Not now, not ever. She will never have this city alive."

His lips went up, but it was not joy he expressed, there was only misery and surrender. He drained his cup, then he stood and walked around the table until he stood at her side. She never took her eyes off him and it felt as though her heart beat loud in her chest at every step he took.

He pulled her chair out and without a word, he lifted her from her seat and carried her over to her bed. She did not speak for fear to break the spell, so there was no sound but the crackle of the fire and the rustling of fabric as he undressed her.

There was tenderness in the act, such as there had not been since they were young and after he brought food and wine to her bed where they laughed and talked of their childhood. She fell asleep in his arms.

She had dreams that night of Casterly Rock, where she saw Jaime and herself, running through the halls of the castle only to end up in the arms of their mother… She dreamed of her children, Joffrey when he'd been a just a boy and Myrcella a little girl and Tommen had been but a babe in her arms. She had been happy in those moments, but the dream became nightmare as their deaths played out, one by one, and she could not take it anymore, and then she woke.

 _"Think about what you are doing."_

She heard someone say before she opened her eyes. She quickly realized she was no longer in her room but in a vast decrepit chamber that smelled of smoke and salt, and the ground was hard beneath her.

 _"I know what I'm doing. I'll get you your bloody-"_

She sat up slowly, and the voices suddenly stopped. Though her head pounded she looked around, and saw Ser Bronn standing across from her brother, a few feet away.

"Where are we?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

Jaime approached then, a wineskin in hand. He crouched as he opened it before giving it to her.

"The dragonpit," He answered simply.

She took a sip from the skin only slightly disappointed it was not wine. The water felt cool and refreshing as it slid down her throat.

"What am I doing here?" She asked, sounding a little more herself.

She reached to soothe the ache in her neck, and realizing the ground was nothing but dirt she moved to stand, rejecting Jaime's help when he extended his arm.

"Leaving," He answered.

Ser Bronn gave him a questioning look at his reply, but said nothing. She remembered then it was the day of her murder plot, and she knew she was missing it. Her anger grew as she realized her brother intended to take her away, even without her consent.

"I am not going anywhere!" She yelled though her own voice rang in her ears and moved away from him.

She looked around the chamber, looking for the way out. When she saw the archway, and the faint glare of the sun, she nearly ran towards it, thinking Jaime might stop her. She was not wrong as he started following her steps.

"The Targaryen has likely already reached the castle, and I ordered our army to surrender. The city is hers."

Though she was urged to leave, she could not help smiling at his words, and turned to look at him.

"Oh sweet brother, did you really think I believed you would kill the Targaryen slut? You, the Knight of Mercy, saviour of the people?"

He looked at her with shock and horror, and her satisfaction only deepened.

"What have you done?" Jaime asked, his voice deep and full of shame.

"Only what I have always done. I made sure I won. Fire is a rather poetic end for a Targaryen, do you not agree?"

"Wildfire?" He exclaimed then.

She scoffed before answering, "Of course not, why would I burn my own castle to the ground? Only the throne room was in desperate need of a new look."

She turned away from him and stepped over to her brother's right hand, who was oddly silent.

"Ser, seeing as you've attempted to stop my brother from kidnapping me, I shall give you the benefit of the doubt. Escort me back to my castle, and I will give you your lordship, and a better wife than that silly girl I saved you from."

He looked over to Jaime before turning back to her and bowing, "Your grace," He said.

She turned to the exit once more, leaving the men behind and entrusting Bronn to convince her brother to follow. She was not sure of his loyalty, but for now she needed him and she trusted his greed. Later, she could have the Mountain find out the truth.

ç

The walk was fairly quiet, they did not see hardly any peasants as they approached the Red Keep. They were likely there already, which served her purpose as well. She would teach them once and for all that no one was going to save them.

When they reached the square, half full of peasants and nobles alike, they could not see the flames, only the smoke rising into the sky. As the crowd came to realize their presence, they easily parted to let them pass, watchful but silent. They entered the outer yard which though nearly bursting to the brim, gave them wide berth as well.

It was not until her brother Jaime touched her arm just above her elbow that she saw a small figure emerging from the fire engulfing the throne room. Her white hair fluttered around her, looking like pale flames as she descended the steps unashamed in her nudity, and Cersei could not deny her beauty. She did not know how it was possible but it did not matter.

"Fire cannot kill a dragon," The Targaryen said then, her voice strong and loud in the silence of the watching crowd.

A dark skinned girl approached her then and wrapped a fine silk gown around her.

"Swear fealty to her Cersei," Jaime whispered in her ear, sounding desperate.

"She will let me take you home."

It was a lie, she knew it, and her poor brother had fallen for it. Somehow, underneath her own nose and despite Qyburn's many spies, the dragon whore had stolen him from her, and her Jaime had turned on her. And then she remembered suddenly, the words of the witch.

 _You'll be queen, for a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear…_

"Cersei of the house Lannister," The Targaryen said then, as her handmaiden moved back.

She let him guide her forward, a stream of supplications for her to bend the knee and ask for mercy pouring from his lips. She wanted to laugh at him, for his stupidity, for his love now, when he was betraying her. She locked eyes with her enemy, hating the woman who'd condemned her brother to be her traitor.

Jaime let go then, and though she felt his gaze heavy on her she could not look at him. He stepped away from her, but did not go far, and then the new self imposed Queen spoke.

"I will not bother to name you usurper nor traitor as there can be no doubt amongst any who stand here today that your loyalty is only to yourself."

"In the great game, there is no middle ground," She replied forcefully, using words she'd once said years ago.

The Targaryen looked at her with pitying eyes.

"Indeed you are right."

She looked away, glancing to the people surrounding her and though Cersei had been tempted to do the same, she did not. She could not feel their fear, nor their hatred, only their joy and awe in her enemy, and she did not want to see it with her own eyes. She kept them trained on her usurper, and waited for her to resume.

"You have been brought here today not only to swear fealty to the crown, and to pay for the harm you have inflicted among the seven kingdoms, and the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of innocents as you played your game."

She did not miss it when the Targaryen turned to Jaime, and though this was meant to be the moment where she would get her chance to swear fealty, she knew her words were intended for him only.

 _And when your tears have drowned you, the Valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you._

"You will fulfill the oath you swore to the rightful crown of the seven kingdoms, and to the people of Westeros once and for all."

She could not find it in her to fault him for his betrayal, it was not as if she did not know who she was, she seemed only to have finally had a moment of clarity, in which she realized there was nothing left for her but death. In that light, she knew there was only one thing that mattered now. It was only at this that she let the mask fall, and gave up the game. She had played and lasted longer than most, but she had finally lost.

She had long since known this day would come though she hadn't quite expected it to end this way. History would repeat itself it seemed, though at least one of her children had avoided the hands of her enemy. Though Tommen... had died by her own. And she knew, she deserved what was to come.

She turned to face her brother, her expression a mixture of despair, resignation and love... for she loved him still, even now when it was the silver haired Targaryen whom he belonged to. Her rival stood close enough to hear their conversation and see the look Jaime gave her in return and she took satisfaction in knowing that it would surely haunt the new Queen for the rest of her days.

She smiled then, at her twin who looked more broken man than fierce lion, and said to him unapologetically, "It seems fitting it should be you. What else have I left to lose but you? Though I admit I always expected Tyrion to be the one."

The tears pooled in his eyes finally slid down his face but still he did not move. She gazed at him softly as she reached up to wipe the wetness from his cheeks and cradled his face, "Fear not little brother. Our golden cubs wait for me."

She understood now, what her father had always told her. Family and legacy were what mattered, not the whims of sons and daughters. She had not been cursed by a witch. She had lived her life for herself and brought horror to any against her, and she knew there was no one to blame for it, for the death of her children, her father, and the betrayal of the one she held most dear, but herself. It was no curse, only a self-fulfilling prophecy. And she had finally come full circle.

It was then that her brother moved and she felt his hands, one warm one hard and cold, at her neck, but his touch gentle. She felt him press his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss, all the while tears streaming down his face. It was the first time their lips had ever touched in the presence of another, and though she felt the eyes of those around her, they did not matter.

He loved her still, and though she began to feel his good hand encircle her neck, she knew Jaime would be a better lord than any Lannister, her father included, had ever been. If her death gave him life and Casterly Rock, then she would give it gladly. She broke apart from him, and looked him in the eye for the last time, and spoke before the noose of his hands began to tighten, "You mustn't blame yourself, my love. I am to blame, only me."

She dropped her voice down, and moved her mouth close to his ear so none heard but him, "I poisoned you for so long, I see that now. Tommen and Myrcella... they came from you. You are a Lannister and a kingslayer, but you are a good man. A new legacy for our family."

When she moved back and caught his eye once more he spoke.

"I love you," His voice was but a whisper, frail and cracked, and he kissed her softly once more.

She smiled gently, her arms dropped to his chest, feeling the beating of his heart against her palm, "We'll always be together."

And then, he squeezed. Holding her close, the last thing she heard him say was, "We're the only two people in the world."

She felt her arms drop from his chest and wanted to tell him 'not anymore' but there was no breath in her, only darkness.


	13. Prelude To The Voices In The Night

Rated M, here's SOME of the mild smut I promised.

* * *

 _Pleasant it was… To lie amid some sylvan scene, where, the long drooping boughs between,  
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen alternate come and go…  
Beneath some patriarchal tree I lay upon the ground; His hoary arms uplifted he…  
And all the broad leaves over me clapped their hands in glee, with one continuous sound;—_

 _A slumberous sound, a sound that brings the feelings of a dream…  
And dreams of that which cannot die, bright visions, came to me…  
Dreams that the soul of youth engage ere Fancy has been quelled…_

 _And, loving still these quaint old themes, even in the city's throng  
I feel the freshness of the streams that, crossed by shades and sunny gleams,  
Water the green land of dreams, the holy land of song. _

_from Prelude to the Voices of the Night by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

 **Daenerys**

æ

The Iron Throne was hers. The chair had remained mostly unscathed in the trap set for her in the throne room and though it was hardly comfortable, when she sat in it she knew it was where she was meant to be.

The kingdom however, remained divided.

She ruled in the South, but still she had to settle the Greyjoys on their islands, the Stormlands were mostly deserted though she knew she had to find a loyal lord to guard it, for now it could wait. The Crownlands were occupied as thats where half her army had landed, making it a safe place for her dragons to call home. The Westerlands had finally sworn fealty, and the broken but loyal, Jaime Lannister, would return to secure Casterly Rock, until she needed him once more.

Then there was also the matter of the three most northern kingdoms: The Riverlands, The Vale, and The North. And this was by far, her greatest concern. The Tully's held Riverrun and declared for the Starks, and the one they called 'the King in the North', joining the Vale who had declared long before she'd even landed in Westeros. The three combined made up much more than the half that was under her control.

She had little faith in swaying the Tully's, they were related by blood to the lady of Winterfell, half-sister to their king. The lord of house Arryn was a sickly boy called Robin, though the Vale was actually under control of the one they called 'Littlefinger', and though he swore allegiance, he served himself only. The spider had intimated that what Lord Baelish wanted more than anything, was the seat she'd just so recently occupied, and she knew it was best to keep him at arms length, for now.

The key was The North. If they bent the knee, Riverrun would follow and then she could focus on her last silent enemy. As a girl, she'd come to loathe the Starks, knowing they'd been the ones to aid the usurper in overthrowing her father. 'An arrogant, self righteous house' her brother Viserys had said of them. Only by the lips of her newest allies had she heard differently of the Starks and the one they had named king.

'Jon Snow' was his name, and he was the bastard of the honourable Lord Eddard of Winterfell. Lord Varys said he'd never met him, but he'd known his father to be a good and honourable man, and his brother Robb to be a capable strategist and leader, and his younger sister Sansa to be smart and kind.

Tyrion had known Jon when he was a boy, green and naive, but he could tell even then that he was a Stark; brave and noble and true, if not a bit brooding.

She'd heard about all the kingdoms, each strong in its own way, but the North, by all accounts was different than the rest. Bravery and Loyalty ruled in the North, and the people were more interested in the harvest for winter, than riches and fame. As a Targaryen she took what was hers with fire and blood, and commanded obedience and fealty. The Starks ruled with honour and humility, and she had a hard time believing peace would be as easy as Tyrion expected. It seemed more and more likely that she would need to forge a lasting alliance, and the easiest way to accomplish that was through marriage, and not only her own.

First and foremost, she had to deal with the king of the Iron Islands, Euron Greyjoy. Once she secured her sibling allies where she needed them and where they belonged, she would go North.

æ

She'd held the coronation in the ruins of the Throne room, and it did not bother her. She could see her dragons fly over her as they placed the crown upon her head, and the people filling the hall seemed glad of her presence, and she was thankful.

The feast had been held in the gardens where the stars shone overhead, though winter had not yet arrived fully to the capital, the night was cool, but welcome. She retired long before the festivities had ended, and though Missandei offered to assist her, she refused. It was clear the girl had been enjoying herself, and seeing Grey Worm smile for the first time, she dared not pry her away. At Tyrion's insistence, she accepted an escort of 4 unsullied to take her to her room.

Once ensconced, she flicked off her slippers and slid out of her binding black gown into the silk sheets of her bed. She placed the crown at her bedside along with her dragon necklace, and lied down falling fast asleep. It was the first time she'd dreamt of her shadow lover in a long time.

In her dream, she'd been sleeping in a bed though it was not the same one, and the sheets felt heavy above her. She stirred from her sleep, hearing the clack of wood hitting wood and the crackle of the flames consuming them.

Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she turned her head towards the hearth. She could only see his back as he faced the fire, prodding at the logs with the poker until he was satisfied they were lit then returned the metal rod to its place before sitting in the chair behind him. He did not seem to realize she was awake.

She sat up, and she was not naked but clad in a woollen shift, and though it was warm, she felt chilled the moment the furs fell off her. She was not sure whether to go to him, or remain where she was, and so she simply sat there like a fool, watching him, though she could hardly see more than some of the dark curls that covered his head.

Finally as she decided she'd approach, she slipped out of the furs though she was near frozen already and stood. She moved to him, her steps silenced by the heavy rugs that covered the floor. As she reached his side, she opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was muffled and she didn't know what she said, but he had as he gazed up at her. She saw him clearly for the first time, and it seemed as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he no longer knew what was right anymore.

"What is wrong my love?" She asked, her tone tender and unfamiliar.

His eyes were heavy on her but he did not answer. She placed her hand over his shoulder to offer him some kind of comfort, and in return he slipped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her close. She felt his arms encircle her waist, and his head press against her breast. With her nightgown the only barrier between his skin and hers, she shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.

He seemed to sense this and looked up at her, and gone was his distress, only fire in his eyes. He loosened his grip around her, until his hands rested at her hips and started to crumple her shift as he used his fingers to slip it up. His eyes still bore into hers when she felt his hands, suddenly cool, burn against her skin.

She felt the warmth of her slip leave her as his fingers skimmed up the sides of her thighs and over the curve of her behind. His thumbs grazed the swell of her breasts as he eased the dress over her head and threw it somewhere behind him.

His eyes finally left hers as they raked over her naked body instead. His hands hung at his side, but suddenly he was bringing them up her thighs once more, and then, he was caressing every inch of her, his fingers urgent but tender. When his hands met at her waist, he pulled her down to him so she sat on his lap.

She could feel him hard against the back of her thighs but he only gazed at her. His hands lay inert around her and she wanted nothing more than for them to touch her again.

She did not like the feel of his doublet, though the leather was soft and supple, so she slid her hands to where the laces held it shut. He did not react nor speak as she shifted until she was straddling him, the previous angle uncomfortable to her task. She felt her body heat with desire as she felt him pressed against her, but she only used her fingers and pulled at the cord until it was loose enough. He sat up and lifted his arms, helping her remove it, neither speaking.

Knowing she wanted to feel his skin she took off his tunic and shirt as well, shifting against him as she did so, until he was as bare as she, at least from the waist up. She slid her hands up his chest and then he kissed her as he never had before. He pulled her even closer against him, and she knew he would have had her then and there if not for his trousers.

She rocked against him as his lips trailed down her neck, and then it was not enough, she wanted more, so she brought her hands down to his pants but before she could touch the tie that held them up he covered her hands, stilling her movements.

He pulled away from her then, untangling himself and standing, returning to the hearth as she'd seen him when she woke. She instantly regretted herself, knowing she'd pressed too far too fast. She sat there, feeling chilled though the heat of the fire warmed her skin. She pulled her knees in to cover herself a little, suddenly feeling conscious of her nakedness.

He remained standing there, gazing into the flames, seemingly having forgotten her. Long moments passed before he finally seemed to remember her presence. When he turned to her fully, she could still see the desire in his gaze. It seemed as if he'd come to some sort of realization as he returned bringing with him the heat of the fire, or so it felt.

He did not sit though, instead he hooked one arm under her knees and lifted her into his embrace. He carried her over to her bed, lowering her gently onto the furs so her feet dangled over the edge. Instead of joining her, he knelt onto the ground placing himself between her legs so they were eye to eye. He kissed her once more and she could not help wrapping her thighs around him.

When their lips parted, he pushed her gently back onto the furs. She obliged, though she wanted nothing more than to remain close against him. She bit her lip when she realized what he intended. He lifted her legs, one over each of his shoulders, adjusting her hips slightly before pressing a gentle kiss to her stomach, and then another, each lower...

And then she woke, tangled in her sheets, drenched in sweat, the warm spot between her legs aching. As she reached to soothe herself, she tried hard to remember his face but he was a shadow once more, all she could remember were his eyes. Cold and broken one minute, then burning and wanton the next. She focused on the memory of his hands on her body, and after she found her release, she drifted off to sleep once more, and again she dreamt of him.

Fully sated, he covered them both in her furs, her naked him still in his breeches, and he held her close against him, with her back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, she felt his breath on her neck.

She woke the next morning, looking for his arms but then she remembered it was only a dream, and he was not real. There'd been no one in her life since Daario, and she wondered if any man would ever make her feel the way her shadow lover did. She got out of bed feeling doubtful.

æ

Once things in the capital were more settled than not, she decided it was time to embark on Pyke. Luckily, she'd left a quarter of her fleet in the Summer Sea, in case she needed to attack from the West. It seemed she did, though not on Casterly Rock as she'd previously thought.

"You will send a raven to Dorne and order our fleet there to ready their ships and sail up the Sunset Sea."

He seemed to know what her intentions were so he only said, "Who will command the attack?"

With a smirk she replied, "I will, along with Yara and Theon Greyjoy."

This surprised him as she knew it would, but she continued knowing it would not be the last, "You will also send a raven to Casterly Rock and notify your brother Lord Jaime that we will arrive in a fortnight, and the fleet will join us there."

He nodded though he remained silent, so she continued.

"It is my intention for your brother to only negotiate the temporary occupation of the Banefort and Fair Isle. We will attack from their ports."

Again he nodded, but she could tell there was something he wanted to say.

"Spit it out Lord Tyrion," She said seriously.

He did not hesitate.

"As Lord of the Westerlands, Jaime ought to be included in this attack."

She sighed, not entirely surprised by this declaration.

"You might be right, but I do not believe your brother is ready. Nor do I believe the people are ready to see him behind another army."

He grinned with irony, "I can handle the truth your Grace, you need've only said that you do not trust him."

She could not help it as she rolled her eyes and moved over to the decanter, where she poured him a glass of wine. She carried it over without saying anything, trying to find the right words to refuse him. When she handed it to him he took it though he gave her a sardonic look first.

"I do not trust your brother, this is true. But not why you think."

He drank from his proffered cup, and she continued, "I know what it is, to kill your lover, loving them as you do it. As do you in fact. He has only just done this. He is not ready."

He seemed to finally understand as he took one long gulp of his wine before he answered.

"You could ask him, your Grace. At the very least."

* * *

a/n: meh. not my best chapter. Also, I'm not a big smut writer, so I can't promise it'll be very lengthy nor that good, though there will be some. thanks for the love, your reviews are what keep me going.

Thanks again!


	14. The Good Great Man

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits honour and wealth, with all his worth and pains!  
_ _For shame, my friend! Renounce this idle strain! What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain?  
_ _Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain, or heaps of corpses which his sword hath slain?  
_ _Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends._

 _Hath he not always treasures, always friends, the great good man?  
Three treasures,— love and light, and calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath;  
And three fast friends, more sure than day or night,—  
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death._

 _from The Good Great Man by Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

 **Sansa**

§

For a short time, Petyr did not press her about the Riverlands, and she took the opportunity to watch him. He was less unkind to her brother than usual, and she wondered if it was on purpose. He did not like the other lords, particularly Lyanna, though she knew exactly why. They were all loyal to Jon and the lady of Bear Island had united the northern lords with her words.

He insisted on delivering his 'reports', as he liked to call them, with the King alone and Jon insisted she and Brienne be there. As these meetings with Littlefinger became a regular occurrence, Jon seemed less and less willing to deal with the man. More often than not, he excused himself in some way or another, leaving her alone with only Brienne at her side. Little did he know, Petyr never let such opportunities pass him by.

"I bring good tidings, my King," He said smiling as he usually did, with great meaning and no warmth.

He bowed before sitting and Jon shifted as the man sat, though he nodded, and replied, "Lord Baelish. I will be glad to hear of it."

As if on purpose, Littlefinger turned to her, "Lady Sansa, you look lovely this evening. It seems the winter's chill has brightened you like the sun to a flower."

This time her brother did not even move, and she felt the tension in his stillness.

"I thank you my lord, though I do not think it kind you keep the King waiting."

He did not seem ruffled by this, but Jon seemed to appreciate her words.

"Quite right you are, my lady. Apologies, your Grace."

He paused again, bowing his head in deference, though it fooled no one.

"I have received word from the south. Cersei is dead. Killed by her brother and lover, Jaime Lannister. King's Landing has a new Queen."

Likely as shocked as she, Jon did not speak at first. She'd known as well that there'd been no chance in stopping Daenerys Targaryen from taking the throne, and truth be told, she was glad the Mad Queen was dead. Even more, that her brother had had no part in it. What truly shocked her though, was that Ser Jaime had been the one to end her reign. She was not sure of his motives, and though she was not sure why, she did not believe he betrayed her for his own gain.

As for her brother, he did not seem to think these were good tidings, but he composed himself by the time he answered.

"It is for the best, though I cannot say I do not pity her."

She wanted to smile and scold him at his reply, her brother truly had a kind heart, and she was both awed and afraid of it.

"And Ser Jaime?" She asked to avoid giving Littlefinger a chance to dwell on Jon's reply.

He turned to her before answering, clearly taken aback by her interest, "Pardoned. It seems he choked the Mad Queen as proof of fealty to the Targaryen. Once a Kingslayer always a kingslayer…"

He trailed off, and she had the sneaking suspicion he hoped Ser Jaime might take care of the new Queen as well.

Jon did not address his words.

"What of the Lannister army?" He asked instead.

"Intact for the most part, your Grace, and returning to the Westerlands along with their new lord."

Jon seemed pleased by this, though she could not say why. The Lannisters had an army still, but it did not seem likely they would join his war, unless he hoped to ally himself with the new Queen…

"And the city?" The King asked then.

This finally seemed to damper Littlefinger's mood, though for only a moment.

"All well it seems. The people have welcomed Daenerys Targaryen, though this is no surprise, considering their former ruler. It seems they have forgotten their beloved Queen's father. No doubt they shall soon remember."

Jon's expression darkened at the man's words, and he did not speak. She wanted to break the silence, and yet, nothing came to mind. It was Littlefinger himself who spoke then.

"Any news of the Riverlands your Grace?"

Her brother seemed startled by this question, and she wondered what Petyr knew that she did not, and if it had anything to do with the rider who'd come to see Jon only a few days earlier.

He eventually found his composure, and answered with a steady voice, "Some, but I would not be surprised you know something I do not."

Lord Baelish grinned yet again, looking as if he rather enjoyed the king's reply.

"Indeed, I think I do."

He paused for a moment, glancing at her before continuing, "It seems, your Grace, when lady Sansa's uncle Ser Brynden took Riverrun, lord Edmure took it back only to hand it over to the Kingslayer, though I suppose now we ought to call him Queenslayer. In any case, he made a deal with Jaime Lannister, though none can say for what. Walder Frey threw him in a cell once more, and the great Blackfish was killed."

He gave them both a moment, and she could not help wonder if perhaps Littlefinger was right.

"Perhaps it is time for a royal visit to the Riverlands, your Grace," He said then, his voice smooth and without reproach.

The king did not react, and did not speak. He seemed uncertain himself suddenly. As expected, her clever cunning suitor, used this to his advantage.

"The Targaryen Queen sits comfortably on the throne, she will not hesitate to reclaim what is hers. We must make haste, Lord Edmure's loyalty is shallow deep at best. If we are to win the war to come, the North _must_ secure the Riverlands."

"I cannot leave Winterfell, not now," Jon replied forcefully.

With a practiced solemn expression he spoke, "No, your Grace. _You_ , cannot."

Both men turned to her in that moment, and she could not help lock eyes with Petyr. His face was serious, and yet, she saw the greedy twinkle in his eye. As for her brother, he seemed almost disgusted in the man's words, and worried that he might be right. That seemed to be the final strand, and she was surprised to find he'd lasted this long.

"Thank you lord Baelish, for this information. If there are no other matters we must discuss at the moment, I will excuse myself. I need some time to think on what has been said."

Recognizing his win, the lord of the fingers smiled as he nodded and replied, "I am glad to be of help, your Grace."

Then Jon stood, bowed at both her and her companion, before flashing a look towards Lady Brienne and leaving.

On this occasion, Littlefinger waited one full minute after her brother the King left, to speak.

"King Jon does not seem to realize the urgency in securing Riverrun's fealty."

"He has sent Ser Davos, and men both of the Vale and the North," She replied, though she understood what he meant.

Lord Baelish did not relent, "Ser Davos and his men cannot truly secure such fealty. With Tully's there is only one way, it is one of their house words after all. Family. You are his only blood, you must be sure he knows it."

She decided not to address his words directly, nor to refute him.

"I'm sure my brother knows what he does, though perhaps he does not think to explain himself to you."

In return, he did the same.

"She has already taken the iron throne, if the Targaryen reaches the Riverlands before the North does, with her dragons, she will easily secure his fealty, he is not one of much backbone anymore. Not after the Frey's had him in a dungeon for over a year."

She did not give in so easily, especially when she looked over at Lady Brienne and saw her contempt for the man clear on her face.

"If he should turn so easily, he is not truly loyal, and we need him not."

He seemed disappointed in this reply.

"That is easily said my lady, but men win wars, not words."

He put his hand over hers, and though she wanted to pull away, she did not. She could only imagine Brienne's reaction to this, but she did not turn to look for herself. Lord Baelish was a dangerous man she knew, and in this moment, Jon stood in his way. Thankfully, Littlefinger needed her, and it would be better to have him think she might be amenable to his plans. He'd once told her that everyone lied and did it better than her, and now, she'd been surrounded by liars for years and knew nearly all their tricks. He was more clever than her that was true, but in that lie her answer.

"Your brother the King needs the Riverlands if he hopes to win his war. And when the Queen comes, he will need that kingdom all the more so he will have some leverage against her. After all, the North, the Vale and the Riverlands combined is twice the size of the southern half."

The lady standing behind them bristled at his words, and Petyr looked over to her. She glanced herself, and saw her guardian glaring daggers at him, her hand on her pommel, and he only smiled. Though he did remove his hand from hers.

He turned back to her then, her eyes lingering on her protector for a moment before she returned his gaze. He was not smiling though she felt it in his words.

"Let us go, you and me and Lady Brienne of course. Bring Podrick if you wish. I will bring a small contingency of the Vale, and we will meet your Uncle, and secure his fealty. Then Ser Davos can return to the North, where he will be of more help. Your brother will be glad of it, after the deed is done."

She was not surprised by this proposal, it had been near clear from the moment he mentioned the Riverlands. What she was beginning to understand though, were his true intentions. So she would give something to hold him for the moment. She stood before speaking.

"I have only just returned home. I need some time to think on it."

His lips went up at her words, and she was glad the bait had worked. He stood, and bowed lightly to her.

"Of course my Lady. I will be ready when you decide."

Once he was gone and they were alone, it was now Brienne who did not hesitate.

"My lady, I hope you have not forgotten what Littlefinger has done. To you, to your fam-"

"I have not forgotten," She interrupted, her voice loud, strong.

She did not want to explain why she let him do the things he did, but she knew she could not defeat Lord Baelish without it. Queen Cersei had been awful to her, and yet she had learned some truth. 'The weapon between her legs' as she'd put it, was her only weapon against him, and Sansa would use it. And he thought her a stupid girl, which perhaps she was, but she would use that as well.

"Petyr is a dangerous man Brienne, more than you seem to realize. And we are lucky that for now, he needs me. Soon that luck will run out and if I am to avenge them once and for all, I must let him want me as well."


	15. Requiescat

So there are some things I wanted to rework in this, but I thought screw it, one more chapter for 2016. Hope you like, and thanks again for follows, faves and reviews, love that sh*t. Ok, Happy New Year everyone! Have fun, be merry and stay safe!

See you next year.

* * *

 _Tread lightly, she is near under the snow, speak gently, she can hear the daisies grow.  
All her bright golden hair tarnished with rust, she that was young and fair fallen to dust...  
Coffin-board, heavy stone, lie on her breast; I vex my heart alone, she is at rest.  
Peace, peace; she cannot hear lyre or sonnet; all my life's buried here. Heap earth upon it._

 _from Requiescat by Oscar Wilde_

 **Jaime**

ø

He'd not been in Casterly Rock in a long time, and now that he was back, it felt larger, and emptier than ever. Oh he still had servants, and guards, but he was alone in the vast castle. His family was gone for the most part, except for his brother in King's Landing. He'd never wanted dominion over the place, especially now that he was alone. So at first, he drank the days away. The castle was mostly self-sufficient, his father had made sure, and Daenerys had pardoned his workforce as long as they bent the knee, which they readily did. It seemed his father was not as beloved as he'd thought. He never asked anything of them, but they worked hard anyway, and what's worse, they seemed to like him.

After he'd killed the Mad King, people looked at him differently. He could see the disdain in their eyes, even when they smiled at him. He grew accustomed to always facing judgement. But now, they looked at him with kindness and respect, and he hated them all the more for it. She was his sister and he'd choked the life from her, and they loved him for it. What's worse, is he knew it'd been the right thing to do, and yet, he hated himself and everyone who'd lived because he'd killed her.

When he received word that the Queen planned on heading his way, with the Greyjoys in tow, he decided it was time to pick himself up. At least enough so that the Ironborn would not see the Lion of Casterly Rock whimpering in his own home.

So he cleaned himself up, and though he'd been tempted to cut his hair, he didn't. It reminded him of the Jaime of old, and so he left it. He stopped drinking and took care of his castle, and then the only time he thought of her was whenever he was not busy. He began training again, and his left got stronger and he learned to use his gold hand to his advantage, but nothing changed really. Whenever he stopped moving she appeared full force, and he only didn't drink himself into a stupor because he'd received word again, from a scout of his own house, that Daenerys and her men, would arrive in three days, perhaps two.

She came in full force but without her dragons, apparently they appeared when she wanted them to and not otherwise. From the start, it was clear she did not come for council nor for his hand in battle; she came to face Euron, and she would do it without him and his army. She needed him only in face, so she could assault her attack from Fair Isle and the Banefort, both houses sworn to him.

He was fine with that. After all, he'd see no one die, and his castle bustled, and he felt less alone though he hardly spoke to anyone. One night however, he'd been sitting on a balcony in silence, when Theon Greyjoy walked in, not realizing he was there. He knew instantly that he was not the same boy he had met once in Winterfell. Theon's gait was less arrogant, and his stance less proud. Jaime knew instantly that someone, or something had broken him and he was only beginning to pick himself up. Which was more than he could say for himself.

The Ironborn from the north leaned on the railing and looked out. His sister Yara would leave for Fair Isle in the morrow while Theon and some of the Queen's unsullied would occupy the Banefort. That was all he knew and all he'd been asked to arrange, and by this time the next day, he would be alone once more. Seeing no harm in it, he spoke to him.

"Theon Greyjoy. I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced," He said then, breaking the quiet.

Theon spun towards him and when he saw him, he said, "The Knight of Mercy."

He never liked Kingslayer, but he liked this new nickname even less.

"Ser Jaime will do," He replied trying to sound like himself.

"Are you afraid for the battle?" He asked curious.

"I would be stupid if I wasn't," Greyjoy answered steadily.

There was a moment of silence, as the once heir to the Iron Islands turned to lean on the ledge and look up at the sky, probably considering the conversation over.

He'd last seen his better half, meaning she who saw the good in him, Lady Brienne, in the Riverlands. He'd found out then that she'd accomplished her mission, and it had given him hope for himself, and so Jaime could not help it.

"You were there, were you not? When Lady Brienne rescued Lady Sansa."

Theon turned to him then, his expression pained, as if he was reliving hard moments.

"I was," He finally answered.

Jaime pretended not to have noticed and continued, "You got her out of course, and saved Podrick did you not? Good lad, loyal."

He seemed to appreciate the words, though he tried hard not to let it show.

"I stabbed a man in the back," He answered simply. "I'm no hero."

He smiled at the young Greyjoy, though it was not happy, feeling a kinship with the broken man before him.

"Nor am I," He responded, then turned to the night sky once more.

He figured that would be that, there had been no real intention to convey anything to the ironborn. He'd simply been interested in having a conversation with the man. But then, Theon spoke.

"Why did you send lady Brienne to rescue lady Sansa?"

It was only a question, but he said nothing at first, as it was not something he felt very comfortable sharing. The answer was easy, 'It was the right thing to do,' yet saying it did not feel easy. His sister had asked for Sansa's head, and he'd sent Brienne to save her instead. He'd betrayed his partner, his twin, not for lady Sansa or his oath to her mother, or exactly for them perhaps. He'd done it because he wanted to show that he was an honourable man, though no one cared to believe it.

"I wanted Brienne to leave the capital," He finally answered, then added for good measure, "I never thought she'd actually find her."

He saw movement from the corner of his eye, he looked over and saw that the ironborn was facing him.

"That I don't believe," He said with conviction. "You knew she'd find her. Lady Brienne is honourable, and a skilled fighter, anyone who knows her knows that."

The boy had caught him in his lie. It was no matter, he was very good at lying.

"By then, it was no matter to me."

This time, his lips went up a bit before speaking, "There was a bounty for Sansa, was there not? She'd been accused of killing Prince Joffrey."

He was not sure if he ought to be grateful, or offended the boy had not said 'your son'. The truth was known, he'd kissed her in front of all those people, and no one would surely forget.

"She did not kill him any more than my own brother did."

He turned away once more, and hoped the Greyjoy was satisfied, as he felt finished with the conversation. It seemed he wasn't.

"Why do you not come with us to... to deal with my uncle? Show the Queen what you're capable of."

He wanted to scold the man like a boy, but instead he held up his gold hand and replied, "I'm not capable of anything."

He stood, deciding he'd take this conversation no longer.

"I was like you once," Theon said then, his voice solemn and honest.

"For longer than I care to remember, all I knew was pain, even after, for a time. I had earned my punishment, pain is all I thought I deserved."

He wanted to tell him that he knew nothing, but the truth was, Theon's words resonated deeply within him and he did not move.

"But then I realized, I'd survived. Against all odds. If I let the pain consume me, it'd be like I was dead, and he'd won. He'd destroyed me. A broken man may never heal completely, but he can be remade into something new."

ø

"It is not my wish to insult you, but I must ask, can you fight?"

He was taken aback by this question, so he did not immediately answer, though he was not at all insulted.

"Begging your pardon your Grace, might I inquire why you ask?"

All civility she'd spoken with earlier departed as her cold steady gaze took its place.

"I will tell you once you answer my question."

He nodded, and replied, "I cannot say I am what I once was, but I am capable of defending myself, and I work at it, and before in..."

His voice trailed off and they both knew he meant to say King's Landing. She spoke so as to move past it.

"I have come to realize that if I hope to unite the kingdoms I must truly embrace them all as my own. Therefore, you will join the fight for the Iron Islands."

She paused, her words settling in the silence. She did not seem entirely comfortable with this notion, and he knew Theon had somehow convinced her to include him. No harm talking to the Greyjoy, indeed. And the boy had acted fast too, surely he'd approached the Queen before dawn.

He bowed, and said, "Your Grace."

"You will accompany Theon Greyjoy to the Banefort, and help him seize the castle and his Uncle Euron."

They departed Casterly Rock; Queen Daenerys, Yara Greyjoy and a portion of the Queen's men including the Ironborn stormed the sea to Fair Isle and then to the Iron Islands, while Jaime, Theon and a small group of Unsullied, including their captain a man oddly named Grey Worm, travelled covertly by land.

Their intention was to use the Banefort, who traded regularly with Pyke, to capture the castle and Euron Greyjoy though they would not kill him. Everything went according to plan except for one moment when one of the soldiers nearly got the better of him, and Euron nearly choked Theon to death, had it not been for Jaime, who'd defeated his foe, and his golden hand that knocked Uncle Greyjoy out cold.

After, he accompanied them, the Queen and her Greyjoy siblings, to some cold and windy hill overlooking the sea, where she spoke before her people. He stood behind the Queen next to Theon as she addressed them.

"The bleeding star marked the coming of a new dawn. One where the rules of God and Man are true and obeyed, where innocents will not suffer for the sins of richer men. Where peace is the way of all men. Therefore, there will be no more roving, raiding nor raping in the Iron Islands."

A murmur of hushed voices of dissent stirred after she spoke, and he knew they'd get louder. That was their way of life since gods knows when, he was sure they could not just accept this 'new dawn'. She seemed to know that as she turned to look at Grey Worm, and nodded slightly. He then turned to the others, and spoke in Valyrian. A small group of men approached, her Unsullied, holding a bound man among them. Euron Greyjoy. He was grinning, and oddly silent.

"Euron of house Greyjoy, you have been charged with murdering your own brother, and attempting to do the same to your nephew Theon and niece Yara, the rightful heir to Pyke. You are sentenced to death."

The guards who held him let go, and stepped away from him. Queen Daenerys did not move, but Yara, the soon to be Lady of the Iron Islands, smiled. Suddenly the air grew quiet, though Euron was rambling something about the drowned god, as he remained kneeling before them all. Suddenly there was a roar, though not like any he'd ever heard before, and from the corner of his eye he saw a flash of black soar by.

He looked up, and though the great beast took up half the sky before him, he could not believe it was real. He'd seen the great bones of the Targaryen dragons, but looming above him with its black leathery skin, with red streaked throughout, horns and ridges that ran along its head and body, its great wings and sharp claws, it was much more terrifying to behold. He descended slowly behind Euron who did not seem to realize he was there, not until he landed with a heavy rumble to the ground.

Euron turned, and though Jaime knew what was coming, he startled when the flame burst out its mouth, and screams filled the air.


	16. The House By The Side Of The Road

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _There are hermit souls that live withdrawn in the place of their self-content;  
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, in a fellowless firmament;  
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths where highways never ran—  
The men who are good and the men who are bad, as good and as bad as I. _

_I see from my house by the side of the road, by the side of the highway of life,  
The men who press with the ardour of hope, the men who are faint with the strife,  
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears. Both parts of an infinite plan—  
Let me live in a house by the side of the road, and be a friend to man. _

_from The House by the Side of the Road by Sam Walter Foss_

 **Jon**

❄️

It was some time after Littlefinger had made his plight of the Riverlands, which he did not bring up again and he was glad the man seemed to understand he had refused him. He was in the solar, after having met with some of the lords still at Winterfell including Lady Lyanna and Lord Glover, when his sister appeared alone. She told him she needed to speak to him and just after she'd sat across from him, she spoke seriously.

"Lord Baelish informs me that Queen Daenerys is in Casterly Rock, and plans on taking Pyke. I am not sure how he knows this, but he is certain she will turn her eyes to the North after she does. Again he urges action, from me. He wishes me to sneak off to Riverrun with him, and Lady Brienne of course."

He knew he should focus on the matter of the Iron Islands, yet it was the knowledge that Littlefinger was scheming to steal away his sister that bothered him most. He tensed immediately, unsure whether he wanted to stay or go find the man. She laid her hand on his for a moment to calm him, and he remained in his seat. He was not sure why he'd been surprised of this information, he only knew Lord Baelish was a dangerous man and he wanted nothing more than to take care of him once and for all.

With her voice lowered she spoke.

"I must go, Jon. If I do not pay him heed, he will do some other evil to get what he wants. For now, we will play his game. I cannot be sure, but I think he intends for Edmure to swear fealty to me. Not you. I suspect he thinks if the Riverlands and the Vale support me, surely the North will follow suit."

For a moment, he was not sure who was more clever, his sister or Littlefinger. Then he remembered that this man had gotten his father killed, and sold Sansa to the Boltons, and he wanted to believe it was her, but he knew Lord Baelish would always get what he wanted.

"I cannot let you go. It is too dangerous. We will find another way," He finally spoke.

She scoffed at him, she would not accept this.

"You need not let me go, I decide my own fate. Our father is dead because of him, I am sure of it and I will stop Littlefinger, cost what it may. You once told me we needed to trust each other, and now you must trust me in this."

He understood her intentions, yet he did not want her to go. He wished he could handle the man himself once and for all but he could not risk losing the Vale, not now when there was worse coming and they were not ready as it was. Getting rid of the man was not as simple as ending his life, Jon knew this much, in fact he doubted even the act itself would be easy. He did not know the child who was lord of the Vale, but he knew Littlefinger's grasp on the boy was firm, and he had a feeling killing the man would not go unheeded.

"You don't need to do this Sansa," He beseeched her, hoping she might listen.

"But I do. I might be the only one who can."

Her voice was determined, and he knew he would not sway her either. So he nodded solemnly, his expression resigned.

"I trust you Sansa, it's him I do not trust, not with your life."

"Do not worry brother. Brienne will protect me. And I will not send Ser Davos back, not until we have dealt with Littlefinger. I will be well guarded, and he will not kill me, he needs me."

He nodded, "It is your decision to go, and I accept it, but you cannot convince me not to worry for your safety."

She stood to leave and it seemed that was the end of their conversation. He stood as well, and she took a step closer.

"As I worry for you and all of ours, that is why I will do this. I leave in a week's time."

Then she said good night and left.

As promised she left seven days later, and when he was informed, he felt truly her absence. She'd left word of her intentions though he'd known, so he would not need to send scouts after her. Suddenly he was truly alone, and he was the only Stark in Winterfell, though he was actually only a Snow.

As the days went by, Ghost began to appear at his side more often, going as far as sitting next to him when he held meetings with the few lords that remained at Winterfell, or during the evening meal finding a spot on the dais where he took his own food. Jon appreciated it more than his friend could know, not only did it make the days after his sister's departure easier to bear, the direwolf's strength seemed to bolster his own, and he began feeling more confident in his commands and as King, and the weight of the crown seemed less somehow.

Things had not calmed down much, yet he found he had free time in the afternoon before supper, and he took to training with the men in the yard. It felt good, wielding a weapon once more, and he vowed not to give it up. He would need to stay sharp, and training was vital to that just as a whetstone to a blade.

Without meaning to, or perhaps because he felt a kinship with the man, he took the new armourer Gendry under his wing in a manner of sorts, by helping him train and offering points when he could. As he'd suspected, his fellow bastard had not quite taken to the longsword, it was evident he wanted to hack as if he held hammer and not blade, but Jon did not say so at first.

When he did, it had not gone well. He was not sure if Gendry knew he was likely the son of Robert Baratheon, or if he'd grown up imagining himself wielding a sword, but he refused to switch weapons, even though he seemed to realize he was not very good with it.

It was not until some time passed, and they became more comfortable with each other, that Jon tried again. He'd invited Gendry to sit at his table for the evening meal, and Ghost had actually smelled his hand and let the man touch his head before the direwolf settled at Jon's other side.

"He likes you," He said almost smiling.

"I would not want to see what happens when he does not, your Grace," Gendry replied as he sat, looking uncomfortable, as if he belonged anywhere but at the King's table, a feeling he'd been all too familiar with himself for a time.

"No you would not," Jon agreed, a grin now on his face. "Luckily, it has not happened lately."

He said nothing at first, only his eyes darted over to Ghost who'd now long forgotten them, looking wary.

"Then I am honoured he likes me, your Grace."

Jon could not help chuckle at his relief, but the meal began to arrive then and for a while nothing was said in the commotion of being served. The Great Hall was not as full as it had once been, he'd dispatched of whomever he could, to re-man the empty castles along the Wall. It had not been enough men as it was, each station was poorly garrisoned, but it was not like he had much choice in the matter, though he knew a few men were better than none. Now at least they did not have a blind spot.

The thought reminded him of his intentions. He needed men he could trust, and Gendry had the potential to be a great fighter but only if he played to his strengths, which he was not doing at the present moment. But Jon knew he'd have to be tactful in his approach.

"How are your apprentices in the armoury doing?" He asked.

Gendry reached for his flagon of ale as he replied, "Good, your Grace. Some are near ready, it should not be long til the rest are as well."

"I am glad to hear it, soon you will be able to focus on your training."

The man tensed a little at the mention, but nodded none-the-less.

"Yes your Grace," he added before taking a gulp of his drink.

"Will you miss the work?" Jon inquired then, cutting at the meat on his plate.

This seemed to have the effect he'd hope for, as Gendry's shoulders relaxed as he answered.

"This may sound strange your Grace, but the forge, no matter where it is located, is the only place I have ever felt at home, like I belonged. I will miss that and the heat, of course."

Jon chuckled lightly, "I can imagine that would be difficult to leave behind."

He hesitated a moment, unsure how best to broach the subject. Serious once more, he continued, "There is a way you can put some of that to use, bring a little of it with you."

Not picking up on his tone Gendry smirked, "What the fire your Grace?"

"Sadly not that no, I mean your knowledge and skill in the forge."

He must have know what Jon was alluding to as his smile vanished from his face, and he said nothing. For his part, he was quickly growing tired of beating around the bush.

"Tell me Gendry Rivers, for I truly wish to understand why you insist on the longsword. Clearly the warhammer is a natural choice for you, a weapon I am sure you will master in no time. Is it not your wish to better yourself anymore?"

The man seemed defeated suddenly, as if he already knew this, and could no longer refuse the sense it made.

"It is, your Grace."

"Then why do you refuse to at least try it?"

He did not say anything at first, only looked down at his plate, picking at his food with his fork for a moment before turning his eyes back up.

"Apologies, your Grace. I can be as stubborn as a bull sometimes, but I cannot deny my swordplay is not improving. It is only for a stupid idea that I insisted but you are right, King Jon. A warhammer is indeed the natural choice."

As he expected, the armourer had quickly taken to his new weapon, and his reluctance disappeared almost as fast and Jon was sure he would soon finish his training and finally serve. With the issue of the warhammer finally settled, it was not long before he and Gendry formed a true camaraderie with each other, and Jon found himself grateful for the southerner, the bastard Baratheon to his bastard Stark.

* * *

a/n: So we're getting there, to the pairings, slowly but surely. There's so much I'm trying to set up and so many characters and plot lines to deal with, it feels like i've barely tackled the GOT universe, and just the tv series-verse. I'll get there, I promise!

Thanks for bearing with me.


	17. To Know All Is To Forgive All

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _If I knew you and you knew me, as each one knows his own self,  
We could look each other in the face and see therein a truer grace._

 _Life has so many hidden woes, so many thorns for every rose;  
The "why" of things our hearts would see, if I knew you and you knew me._

 _from To Know All Is to Forgive All by Nixon Waterman_

 **Arya**

å

She left the capital mixed of emotion. She'd decapitated the man who'd taken her father's head, and though Cersei was dead, and she'd seen Ser Jaime, now Queenslayer, do it, she felt no satisfaction in the deed. There was nothing to be done about it though, so she tried to put it from her mind, and focused on those still left on her list.

Thoros of Myr. Beric Dondarrion. The Red Woman. The Mountain. Theon Greyjoy.

She'd recently added him when she heard what he'd done to Winterfell, that he'd killed Ser Rodrick Cassel, and his men had killed Maester Luwin and the people who worked there, that they'd burned most of the castle away. She would take care of him last, and then she would go home.

She took the Kingsroad north, feeling the difference from when the lands had been under Lannister rule. She was reminded of the days before the war, when she'd taken the road south, there had been people, and they'd spoken to her, and been kind to her. The road this day felt much the same, though vastly colder.

 _Winter is here_ , she thought. She imagined the castle covered in white, snow covering the green hills outside Winterfell. She wondered how long it would be until she set her eyes upon it again, and upon her family.

She wondered how Jon felt being king in the North, wondered if Sansa was jealous they'd rallied behind him a bastard, and not her, a trueborn Stark. Even after all this time, she missed her half brother dearly, and when she'd heard the news, she was glad for him. She was sure he deserved the title, and though she'd never told anyone, she'd always thought him the most like their father, not only in looks, but in the way he was.

She wondered then, what would happen between her brother and the Targaryen Queen. Would she ask him to bend the knee, and take off his crown? What if he refused? Would she declare war on him for control of the North? She hoped it did not come to that. Queen Daenerys had ended Cersei's rule, and there seemed to be peace in the south. Her brother had been named King, and the same was happening in the north. One war was ending, but another seemed to loom in the near future.

Dragon against Direwolf, and she did not like the odds.

When she reached the Inn at the Crossroads she momentarily considered wearing one of her faces, but she could not believe Hot Pie was still alive let alone baking there, so she remained herself. She doubted he'd recognize her in any case, she'd been playing boy for most of the time she'd known him, and she'd been a child. She was not Arry the orphan boy, not Weasel the cleaning scrub, nor Arya the runaway.

It was dark when she arrived, and she sat at a small trestle table in the back. The Inn was not full, but there were a dozen or more men and women, eating, or drinking or both. A girl her age approached her, likely the keep's daughter and she asked for a bowl of stew and a piece of bread. The girl offered her the house ale, saying it was quite good. She shook her head, and asked for water instead.

The faceless men did not have vices, so they remained sharp. She was not faceless, but she needed to stay focused, so she would follow their way as much as it served her to.

As she waited, she considered how she would go about finding the brotherhood. They were still around it seemed, though their numbers had been steadily dwindling. In the morning she would take the River Road West to the last place she'd heard word of them before she'd taken off to King's Landing, and go from there.

Her food arrived then, though it was not the girl who brought it, but a tall bulky man, with dark curly hair. He placed her food and drink on the table, and she looked up, thanked him and pulled the bowl closer. She'd already filled her mouth and was tearing at her bread when she realized he was still standing before her.

"You been here before?" He asked.

She shook her head, and dipped her bread into the broth.

"We've met, i'm sure of it. I never forget a face."

She sneered at him, thinking he was trying to flatter her.

"I doubt it," She answered, brushing him off.

She returned to her hot food, when the man sat down. Suddenly she was alert, and while she let go of both spoon and bread, one hand reached for the water while the other slid under the table, and grabbed the dagger hidden in her clothes. She surveyed the room, but no one seemed to be approaching them, nor paying them any mind. So he was alone it seemed. She kept her attention on his hands, which remained crossed on the table in front of her.

He stared at her intently, though he did not seem to notice that her guard was up.

"Well you're from the North, that's quite obvious though there's something in your accent that's foreign somehow."

She wanted to bare her knife at him to force him to leave but his words had surprised her, how could he know such things?

"What do you mean quite obvious? I said three words to you," She said instead, her voice scornful.

"Five," He corrected.

When he realized that hadn't made anything better, he continued, "Been here long time. People from everywhere come and go, you sort of get to be able to tell 'em apart."

She nodded, and suddenly didn't care anymore. Sensing no danger, she sheathed her dagger.

"Can I eat now?"

She turned to her food and didn't let him answer. She picked up the bread, tore at it and dipped it into her bowl, then stuffed it into her mouth. When she looked back up, he was gone. She looked around but did not see him, and suddenly felt awful. She ate her stew fast and paid for her meal, and decided she'd rather spend the night under the stars.

When she went to leave, she saw him in the back, and decided she would apologize. She was a Stark and unkindness was not their way. She approached him directly, and he looked at her with squinting eyes.

"I'm sorry for my rudeness earlier, I was just really hungry."

He did not seem to be bothered with that nor her words, as his eyes suddenly grew wide.

"Arry?" He said then. "From Winterhell?"

She was surprised though her face did not show it. She could not believe the tall man, though still young and the right age, could be the short boy she'd known years ago.

"Winterfell," She corrected.

When he smiled, she knew that it was. He'd been her friend, and though he was a coward, she trusted him.

"I knew I knew you!" He exclaimed.

She made a face at him so he would keep his voice down, and he seemed to suddenly remember everything else that came with being her. He beckoned her to follow and soon they were outside, at the back of the Inn, where they were alone. In an effort to guide the conversation away from herself, she spoke first.

"Hot Pie. I hardly recognize you and I can't believe you're still here."

He shrugged, "Grew up fast, and times were hard under the Mad Queen. And they call me Hallys now. Seems Hot Pie's not fit a name for the head cook."

He beamed at her, and she was glad he seemed happy. For a moment she envied him, his simple life, and how he'd succeeded at it. She'd done well enough in her own life, but she had sacrificed a lot, surviving almost on will alone.

"It suits you," She said kindly, sounding unlike herself.

"And you? Heading to Winterfell now that your brother is king?"

She was not entirely surprised he was so well informed, word always travelled fast in the seven kingdoms, though often skewed in the many retellings. But she realized he likely knew of what happened to her mother and brother as well, and her Aunt Lysa, being here, at the Crossroads Inn, right in the thick of it all.

She hesitated a moment, deciding whether to tell him the truth or not.

She opted for the later, knowing it would not do any harm, "Not yet."

And then deciding he might be able to help her out she told him of her real quest, or at least part of it.

"I'm looking for the Brotherhood. They owe me a debt."

He did not seem surprised by this, almost everyone in the Riverlands was owed something by the outlaws, though that was not exactly what she meant.

He grinned, "I'm not sure they'll be able to pay you back, their ranks have only dwindled since the Mad Queen died."

She smirked in return, "I'm sure we'll come to some sort of agreement. Do you know where they are?"

He did not even hesitate, "I saw Anguy 'bout a moon ago. Came by with some new faces. I fed 'em, and he told me about the others. Old Lord Lychester helps 'em sometimes. Says they're hiding in Sallydance, though ain't no one looking for 'em no more."

She was not entirely surprised Anguy was still alive, his skills had vastly outweighed his age, even then. She could only imagine what he'd become, and briefly wondered if she'd have to kill him too.

"Wha' happened to Gendry?" Her old friend asked then.

Whatever mirth she had in her, disappeared at his mention. She still did not know what had happened to him, but she'd known the red woman's intentions from the moment they snatched Gendry, and whatever it was, she knew it had not been good.

She was not sure whether she should tell him or not, what would be the point now, to bear such a burden on him, the bull was long gone. And then she realized, she did not want to steal from him the only other person who would mourn his disappearance.

"I don't know," She finally said, deciding on the truth she had.

"A red priestess came and took him away."

There was a moment of silence, in which she thought he might realize why she sought the Brotherhood, but he seemed only disheartened by the news. It was then that she remembered that he'd known her before she'd become the killer she was now.

"He might still be alive," He sounded hopeful.

She wanted to feel it, but couldn't, instead she felt only a burning rage as she thought of the ones responsible, each face crossing her mind in a list. She saw no point in denying him his hope though, but she could not bring herself to share in it.

She decided on an ambivalent reply, "I guess we'll never know."

That night she stayed at the Inn after all, and left in the morning after Hot Pie fed her, gave her directions to Sallydance and sent her off with a bread that looked so like a wolf she almost didn't want to eat it. She assured him she would visit again though it was a promise she did not exactly intend on keeping, though maybe someday, she would.

When she was done.

* * *

a/n: Kind of a short chapter, and a filler at best, but crucial to my story. Next update to be posted soon. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!

Thanks again.


	18. My Mind To Me A Kingdom Is

Few things I wanna say: this was really hard to write, and therefore one of my worst chapters. That's why it took so long, i've edited and re-edited to its max point and i'm still not satisfied with it. I don't think I ever will be.

Some of the fic warnings are from this chapter.

* * *

 _…_ _Content to live this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice;  
I press to bear no haughty sway; look, what I lack my mind supplies…  
Some have too much, yet still do crave; I have little and seek no more…  
I fear no foe, I fawn no friend; I loathe not life, nor dread my end._

 _Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, their wisdom by their rage of will;  
Their treasure is their only trust; a cloakèd craft their store of skill…  
My wealth is health and perfect ease; my conscience clear my chief defence;  
I neither seek by bribes to please, nor by deceit to breed offence:  
Thus do I live; thus will I die; would all did so well as I! _

_from My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is by Sir Edward Dyer_

 **Sansa**

§

 _"_ _There is something I wish to confide in you Lady Sansa, for fear it will die with me, should our plot fail."_

 _She wanted to tell her brave knight that she was at risk of death as well, but Littlefinger would want her alive, and that was as good as a guarantee that she would survive regardless of the outcome, so she said nothing, and only nodded._

 _After Brienne shared her secret, she could say nothing to it, the knowledge was as far removed from her as if from another land, but she agreed to keep it, though she was not certain what Brienne intended her to do with it._

 _Instead she said the only thing she could, "You are the greatest knight-"_

 _"_ _I am no knight," The Lady of Tarth interrupted, her voice stubborn._

 _She smiled, but ignored her, "That I have ever known, title or no, you will not fail._ ** _We_** _will not fail."_

Of course, she should have know she'd been wrong.

When she'd left Winterfell in the night as promised, with Lady Brienne and Podrick in tow, she kept up her charade, did not reproach his subtle touches, nor how close he would lean in when he spoke to her.

She had not reacted when they took the Kingsroad south past the Twins, nor had she responded when he informed her, "We've come to see your Uncle, not your brother's Onion Knight."

It was all a means to an end, she told herself.

Riverrun had already been informed of their arrival, thanks to Littlefinger, but she knew she'd need to find a moment to speak with her uncle alone as soon as was possible.

When they finally arrived, she had felt a little strange in the beginning, for she had never truly known him, or any of house Tully though they were kin. Littlefinger did most of the talking thankfully, but Edmure did not seem to hear, instead he looked over at her, and smiled.

Lines and creases adorned his face and he looked tired, she realized, as if he had not slept well in years; there were grey hairs already showing in his red hair. It made his wife, whom Sansa remembered was a Frey, look years younger than she likely already was. She was not entirely surprised to find that Roslin was beautiful, she had no doubt that the lecherous old Walder likely had snagged at least one lovely bride in his time.

She could not help but wonder if her brother and mother might still live if only Robb had kept his oath. Her uncle Edmure approached her then, placing both hands on each of her arms as if to take a good look at her.

He smiled before speaking, "You look so like your mother."

Then he pulled her into a tight hug, his embrace warm and welcoming. It reminded her a little of what it used to feel like, when her mother held her. She knew instantly she could trust him.

She was safe.

There had been no discussions that day, instead she was shown to her chambers where she rested, Brienne not far off. Podrick had made himself scarce, trying to find a way to her uncle without Littlefinger nor any of his spies finding out.

She spoke with her uncle the next day, Littlefinger at her side, though he did not push in her favour as she'd expected. Instead, what little he voiced was in her brother's name. Nothing was stated outright of course, everything said in undertones, but even then, it was clear Lord Edmure was loyal to Jon as he was to her, at least that is how it had seemed to her.

After, she'd expected him to make his move, try to convince her to see his way, but he did not so much as mention her brother nor their real intentions for going there. It worried her, Lord Baelish was playing his game as much as ever, and yet she could not see what it was, and he did not share it with her.

She did not have much time she knew, it would not be wise to leave Riverrun alone with Littlefinger, she needed to act and quickly. The plan was to ambush him, for Brienne to end his life.

"I cannot say i'm sorry it had to come to this."

He smiled as only he could.

"Neither am I, my love. Though I think I might actually miss Lady Brienne's faithful scowl."

She had not realized she was doomed from the start, and there was no one to blame but herself. She'd considered herself ready, and capable of handling Littlefinger, yet now that the time was upon her, she could see where she'd gone wrong.

It happened quickly; one moment it was them three only, and then she was falling, a flash of dark steel appearing where her armour ended below her waist, and though the room was not empty, she was suddenly alone.

Brienne's body lay unmoving next to her and he did not spare even a glance before he ordered the bulk of his men to ready their departure. Four remained after the rest had gone.

"We're off to the Eyrie my love, where you will marry your betrothed before something awful should happen to him," He said to her, a glint of evil in his eyes at his intimation.

"And my Uncle?" She asked, her voice numb.

"Will be informed of our departure, after we are gone of course. I'm pleased to find out he cares for you and his loyalty is true. When the time comes, surely he will support us."

She did not miss his use of _us_ and not _you,_ but she was not clear how he intended on taking the North. Compelled by her ignorance, she spoke.

"Do you really think the North will support you, will support me? We won the battle against the Boltons, yet it was my brother whom they rallied behind. They have no great love for me, and I doubt they will care of my abduction."

Petyr grinned, "Oh my love, you are both right and wrong. It's true, the North holds no such love for you, but your brother does. Once I tell him of my plans for you, he will come. To be sure."

She understood now, what he intended. He meant to kill Jon.

Of course, she would not let him use her to do it. Sansa had not expected to fail, but she also knew she would not leave herself to the mercy of others. Her life lay only in her own hands, and it was the one way to foil his plan, and she would need to act fast. She pulled out the small dagger Theon had given her before he'd left, the one she kept with her always. It was not big enough to kill Littlefinger, but it was sharp enough for her own throat. Hidden by her cloak, she held it in her hands and waited for her chance.

"I've not forgotten your would-be knight's squire, he's been quite the busy body since we've arrived. He was supposed to be here for this."

When he turned to one of his men, telling him to find and kill Podrick, and as two left, she moved back away from the bodies, holding the dagger at her throat, and waited for Littlefinger to notice.

When he finally did, he flashed her a grin filled with pity.

"No my love, we can't have that. Not unless you wish for many more, including your Uncle, his wife and babe, to die. "

She froze, knowing Petyr Baelish did not make idle threats. She lowered the blade from her throat an inch and he moved towards her, his two men a step behind. She felt tears swell in her eyes, and her throat go tight as they stepped over Brienne.

They were nearly upon her, when all of a sudden, her knight moved. Their eyes all on her, they did not notice as she stood, silent though blood surrounded her and still poured from the wound at her waist.

She did not know where Podrick was, but she was alone, so she did not beg nor plead for his life. There was one though I will only hurt your brother worse."

e steps over brienne. their eyes all on her they don't see Brienne get up, silent though blood surrounds her, and still pours from her. The Lady of Tarth unsheathed only her small blade and silently sliced the throat of the man closest to her. The sound of his body crashing to the ground, forced the other and Littlefinger to turn in surprise.

"For Lady Catelyn," Brienne said then. The last remaining guard unsheathed his longsword and moved towards her.

Sansa did not watch her kill him, instead she used the distraction and stepped close behind Littlefinger.

Being nearly taller than him, it was not difficult to align her blade with his throat.

"This is for my father," She whispered in his ear.

She slid the steel across the soft skin of his neck, a stream of blood gushing from its path. She stepped back from him as his hands instinctively went to his neck to prevent the flow, but it was no use and he fell to his knees, gurgles of blood pouring from his mouth.

"And for me," She added.

She stepped past him even before he fell to the ground, and rushed to Brienne's side, who was on the ground once more, Littlefinger's soldier lifeless at her feet. She knelt on the floor, cradling her head. The dead man had landed a blow of his own, red flowing from a wound at her side, and she knew her brave knight would soon leave her.

Tears slid silently down Sansa's cheeks, and Brienne only smiled as best she could and said, "I have done my duty."

The lady of Tarth winced then, her grin faltering. A sob burst from her, and Sansa knew there was no one to blame but herself.

"I'm sorry Brienne, this is all my fault-"

" _We_ beat him, together," She interrupted, her voice soft yet insisting.

She would not argue, would not waste these last moments with her friend, so she smiled as best she could.

"It was you. You saved us all, you protected me when I thought no one could."

Her lips went up a little at that, but she said nothing, only let out a deep sigh pierced with pain, and Sansa knew there was not much time left.

"Ser Jaime," Brienne uttered then, weakly.

"Tell him I-" She faltered.

Sansa knew what she wanted to say, understood finally why the lady had shared her secret only the night before, which now felt years past. She began to nod when her knight spoke again.

"It was an honour to know him."

It was not what she wanted to say Sansa knew, but she nodded. She would tell him the truth Brienne meant.

"He is a good man, promise me you will forgive him, for what he's done for his family."

She was using the last bit of strength she had to say these words, and though she knew it would not be an easy promise to keep, she made it.

"I swear it," She answered.

It was then, that Podrick arrived, followed by her uncle, and men of Riverrun closely behind.

Seeing them alone, he rushed to them, dropping to his knees at Brienne's other side. The others remained back though she heard her uncle speak but she paid no attention.

"Pod," She said softly.

"I'm sorry I'm late," He answered morosely, sounding as if he thought if only he'd arrived sooner he might have been able to save her.

She had never been particularly close with her squire, but Sansa knew she cared for him. Brienne reached for his hand and seeing her effort he took it quickly.

"You will be a great knight someday."

His lips went up a little at that, his unshed tears finally sliding down his cheeks by the crinkling of his eyes.

"It has been an honour being your squire," He answered.

For the first time she did not argue the implication, "Tell my father-"

She stopped then, wincing in pain, her breath hitching in her throat, and Sansa felt Brienne's hand tighten around her wrist for a moment then she let go, and just like that, she was gone.

§

Unsurprisingly, with Lord Baelish dead, his men had yielded quickly. She'd had no interest in them though she heard her Uncle had locked them in the dungeon below Riverrun for the time being. The castle and its inhabitants had been sworn to secrecy as well, until she and her uncle decided what to do.

That night, after she'd washed the blood off her skin, scrubbing until even her elbows had turned pink, she dreamt she'd saved her knight. She saw the man behind her before his blade reached her back, and at her warning Brienne turned in time to stop him. She'd been the one to kill Littlefinger, with her father's steel no less.

Sansa woke at that, tears already sliding down her face as she remembered the truth. Her life was the nightmare, not her dreams.

By the time morning came, she knew what she needed to do. With Podrick at her side she met with her uncle in his solar.

"I know I have asked a lot of you uncle, but I must ask again for your help."

Without pause he replied, "Whatever you need."

"I must go to the Vale and see my cousin, and no one must know of Littlefinger's death until after I do."

He seemed to understand what this meant, and nodded.

"First though, there is somewhere else I must go, and no one but us must know. And Podrick, you will deliver a message for me."

* * *

a/n: A lot of you probably hate me, I mean I hate me (Brienne is actually one of my favourite characters if not the most), but I'm basing this series on what I think will happen, main points anyway, and her dying is one of them. Sansa taking out Littlefinger, another.

I didn't want to do it, but I had to. I am sorry and sad to see her go though. Aside from Jon, she actually reminds me the most of Eddard, and the war started with his death (a person of honour), I think it makes sense it ends the same way.

And to be honest, Lord Baelish and his story is not the focus of my series but I couldn't just ignore him, so I tried to deal with it as best I could. I'm sure the series will give him the storyline his character deserves.

Anyway thanks for reading.


	19. Reluctance

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _Out through the fields and the woods and over the walls I have wended;  
I have climbed the hills of view and looked at the world, and descended;  
I have come by the highway home, and lo, it is ended…_

 _Ah, when to the heart of man was it ever less than a treason  
To go with the drift of things, to yield with a grace to reason,  
And bow and accept the end of a love or a season?_

 _from Reluctance by Robert Frost_

 **Jaime**

ø

Though it was cold, and the wet wind swirled around him, he stared south, imagining he could see Casterly Rock. He was surprised he longed to be back, not because he missed the land particularly, but because he'd grown fond it seemed, of the quiet way his life had been. And all this death about him, he could not take it much longer.

The door behind him opened suddenly, one of the Targaryen's eastern soldiers beckoned him inside. He turned once more to the sea, looking hard for one long moment, before turning back to the man he did not know, and entered the castle that was not his own.

Jaime followed him to where he knew she'd be only when he entered, the Queen was not alone. Theon Greyjoy, the one who'd gotten him involved in the affairs of Pyke, sat in a chair across from where she stood. There was an empty spot next to the ironborn, and he walked to it, bowing to her first before sitting steadily, knowing it was intended for him.

She nodded appreciatively, and spoke, "Now that Lady Yara holds the Iron Islands, I will sail North. I've sent word to King Jon and I will take a garrison of thirty men, mainly Unsullied though a few Dothraki riders have requested to go."

"Surely you realize, I intend you both to journey North in due time. You will both help me end the war with the Starks, my realm will have true peace throughout the kingdoms."

Greyjoy seemed both surprised and horrified at this information, but he only bowed his head. Jaime nodded as well, but he suspected he hadn't completely hidden his distaste at this request as she continued to speak. Her eyes on him, she smiled, as if she knew something he did not.

"For now, you will return to Casterly Rock, and secure the fealty of your men."

Though the two words that started her sentence confirmed that one day he'd leave, he felt relief. For the first time in his life perhaps, had he ever been excited to return home, and not because his sister was there.

She turned once more to the man sitting beside him.

"Theon, you will remain in Pyke at your sister's side. When it is time, you will make your apologies to the North and to King Jon. You will agree to whatever justice he seeks."

Again Greyjoy nodded, but he seemed resigned to the idea, as if he knew he'd have to face his demons sooner or later. Her gaze turned upon him then, her voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Lord Jaime, as head of House Lannister, you will journey North as well and seek to make peace with the Starks, and make your own apologies for what your house has done."

It was only what he deserved he knew, and so he too nodded without word. But for now, he would return home.

ø

He'd been in Casterly Rock only two days when three riders bearing no banners arrived at his castle seeking to speak with him. They were not enough to be trouble so he invited them in as far as his courtyard, though his men were on guard.

he recognized the man immediately though he hardly knew him and he was much changed since he'd last seen him.

"Podrick!" He exclaimed not unkindly.

He arrived with two men Jaime only knew were from the North by the bear sigil they bore under their cloaks. He did not want to worry because Brienne was not there; the man was her squire and it was normal she should send him as her messenger, but the sudden pit in his stomach did not take heed. Particularly as Podrick only barely smiled before him and his men dismounted.

"Lord Jaime," He said when he approached, with a nod of his head.

He returned the gesture. He knew then, that whatever Podrick had come to speak of, he did not want to do it here.

"Rollam," He waited for his squire to approach before he continued, "Take my friend's men inside, where they might rest from their journey. Have the kitchen bring them food and wine. Do the same for Podrick, we will be in the drawing room."

The boy of house Westerling nodded, and the two burly men silently followed him as he walked away.

They did not speak of much as they walked there, but once they arrived and their privacy secured, he did not hesitate. He spoke after he poured them each a cup of wine.

"I would say you're very far from home, but that would not be true strictly speaking, so I'll only ask, what brings you to Casterly Rock?"

Podrick reached into a small satchel attached to his belt and pulled out a small scroll, sealed with red wax.

"I have come to relay a message, my lord," He answered holding up the roll of paper for Jaime to take it. as he did, Podrick took the proffered cup of wine before sitting down.

Dubiously, he looked down at the letter, recognizing almost at once, the wolf sigil sealing it closed. Opening it, he saw it was from Lady Sansa herself. He felt his insides turn to ice when he realized it, for there was only one reason she would write to him, only one person they had in common. Lady Brienne, his friend, nay she was more than that to him but he could not say what.

 _Lord Jaime,_

 _We have never truly spoken, our houses are bitter enemies, yet I must ask that we meet. With the new Queen ruling in the South, there is no war between our kingdoms, so you have no need to fear any sort of trick or attack. My wish is only that we may speak, as there is much we need discuss and much I must say that ought be said in person._

 _Lady Sansa of House Stark_

"Where does she propose we meet?" He asked Podrick, who was already enjoying the wine.

He could not bring himself to ask the young man about Brienne, he did not want to confirm what he feared was the reason of all this.

"So you agree to meet my lord?"

Jaime smiled before answering, "I only asked where she intends on meeting."

His brother's former squire lowered his cup suddenly somber, "I'm only to say if you agree."

He grinned, feeling amusement at his intention to safeguard the northern girl.

"Say I do, agree that is, what's to stop me from ambushing her once I know?"

Podrick returned the smirk, "Your word, my lord. Lady Sansa has faith that you will keep it."

His lips faltered and lowered, and he suddenly realized Lady Brienne was no longer the only who knew of his honour. Knowing he likely would not be able to deceive Podrick neither, he did not argue.

"Fine. I will meet her."

Payne seemed to accept this and finally answered, "She waits in Wayfarer's Rest."

The Riverlands? He was surprised to find out she was there, last he'd heard, she'd been in Winterfell with her bastard brother. He should not be so taken aback, now that her uncle Lord Edmure had taken back Riverrun and declared for House Stark, and their new King. Free of the Lannister thumb, without surprise the other houses, bannermen to the Tully's, followed suit.

Wayfarer's Rest was not far, though he would not be able to conceal his presence on their lands, no more than she would on his. He was not at war with the North, nor the Riverlands, but that hardly meant a truce.

"I am to take it that this is a secret rendezvous yes?" Jaime asked, though he was fairly certain already.

The not so young squire nodded, "She wishes to meet you at the Tooth."

He informed his household only that he intended to tour his kingdom and would start with the Pass at the Tooth. Podrick and his men left the day after their arrival, none the wiser of his secret message. His family served the Lannisters, and he wondered if Lady Sansa had sent Podrick for that very same reason.

The Lady of Tarth was too recognizable, that is why she hadn't been chosen for this mission. The northern girl needed her of course. He would see her soon he knew, standing guard at Sansa Stark's side, looking fierce and noble.

Brienne was alright, he told himself.

ø

He reached the Golden Tooth just after midday, where he was graciously received as he'd expected, just as he'd been when he'd gone to Fair Isle and the Banefort, and though it was genuine, he did not appreciate it.

He gave his men leave till the morning, and retired to wash up and rest from his journey. He did clean up but he didn't put his feet up, instead he returned to the stables and fetched his horse, and left word that he'd return in the evening.

He passed the village not stopping until he reached a small inn on the outskirts and he entered the main hall alone.

He saw Podrick immediately, a hooded figure who could be no one but the Stark girl sat across from him and as he walked over to where they sat, his nerves bundled in the pit of his stomach, he realized it was just the two of them. He looked around the room hoping to see Brienne standing taller than most men with her familiar scowl, yet he did not see her yellow locks anywhere.

He took a seat beside Lady Sansa, facing Podrick so as not to bring any attention to her. Their eyes met for a brief moment after he joined them, her expression soft in a way he had not expected nor hoped to see.

"Lord Jaime," She said lightly, her voice solemn. "Thank you for meeting me."

He nodded but for some reason, he could not bring himself to speak. Whether she realized this or not, he was not sure but she spoke in any case.

"How was your journey?" She asked trying to sound amiable, though it only sounded as if she was not interested in playing out niceties and idle conversation.

"Uneventful," He answered simply, looking over at Pod who was looking at him with pitiful eyes.

When it was clear he had no intention on saying anything else, she spoke again.

"There is something I must tell you, but first I must explain a few things. As Podrick has informed you, I come from Wayfarer's Rest, and Riverrun before that. "

Again he nodded, and remained silent, finding no reason to say anything. She would tell him the purpose of this rendezvous, and the quicker it would be if he kept his mouth shut. He looked around to see if anyone was paying them any mind, but the place was near full, and it was clear no one cared.

"What is not known, not to anyone outside the Riverlands, is that until very recently, Lord Baelish had been there as well."

In that moment a young girl arrived with a bottle of wine and three cups. As she set them on the table and filled them, Podrick asked for a kidney pie along with a pot of hot stew and it was not until the girl left that he spoke.

"What do you mean until recently?"

Podrick suddenly seemed very interested in his cup of wine and he realized Lady Sansa was likely waiting for his attention so he turned to her, unsurprised of her steady gaze on him.

"Littlefinger is dead," She said simply, though she kept her voice low.

Her blue eyes dropped from his then as she closed them shut, and with both defeat and shame in the action, he knew it was because of her.

They were no longer pretending not to be speaking to one another, and he could not bring himself to care. The pit he'd carried in his gut was gone, in its place he felt only impatience.

"I don't mean to be indelicate but I must ask you to get to your point, as I'm sure Littlefinger's death is not it."

Her eyelids fluttered open though she did not look so much shocked by his words but discouraged by them. But she spoke anyway.

"Petyr was a dangerous man, more than I'm sure you or almost anyone knew. For my family, I did what I knew I had to. I thought I could handle him, only I was wrong."

She paused for a moment, and reached for the cup of wine, taking a long sip. He knew what was coming by the large knot in his throat that kept him from speaking, and the tenseness of his body that kept him from moving.

"Lady Brienne…" She trailed off, her voice pained and guilt ridden.

"Please no…" He mumbled, he did not want to know it, he could not, but she did not hear him.

"She saved me, but I could not save her."

For only a second longer he remained still, but then he was shaking his head, and moving to stand. She could not be dead… he would not accept that… she was fine… she had to be… he could not lose her too…

And suddenly a warm hand descended over his own, soft but forceful. He looked into the blueness of her eyes, glassy like water, and he was reminded so much of Brienne and her sapphire isles, that he stopped moving, all at once overwhelmed by his grief.

"I am sorry Jaime," She said then. "It is my fault. If not for me-"

"She did her duty," He interrupted.

He wanted to blame her, but he knew it was not her fault, not truly. Brienne was too good for this world, too pure, too honourable. He'd known it long ago, when Cersei had laid eyes on her at their son's wedding. He'd sent her on a fool's mission not for his honour, not to save the Stark girls, but because he knew his sister would kill her. The Lady of Tarth was a fighter not a schemer, a knight in every sense of the word.

And all good knights die in the end.

He jerked his hand away from hers and stood to leave so he could rage and scream at the world alone. He left without another glance at either of them, suppressing his anger and hurt so as not to draw attention to himself.

Only when he was outside and finally alone he let it out, his golden hand swung hitting the side of the Inn's wall, the clang reverberating in his ears and in his stump. He took a deep ragged breath, feeling tears flood his eyes, but before he could let them out, he heard a voice behind him.

"Ser Jaime, please wait."

He quickly reigned his emotions in, blinking the wetness away, before finally turning to her, serious once more. He could not bring himself to speak, and only waited as she approached him. When she was finally in front of him, she spoke again.

"In her last-" She hesitated then continued, "She thought of you. She wanted me to tell you that it was an honour to know you."

The knot in his throat returned with full force at her words, he sucked in air in an effort to quell the sob lurking there.

"She loved you, Jaime. She could not say it, but she did."

Her words finally pushed him over the edge and a sob burst from his throat, strangled and pained before his tears finally over brimmed his eyes. He turned to leave again, ashamed of his emotions, or at least of her seeing them. He stilled though, when he felt her hand grasp his arm.

"Stay, eat with us. She would not want you to be alone."

He considered the notion, and it did not take long for him to face her once more as he realized he did not want that either. She kept hold and looked at him for a long moment, her expression soft before removing both and turning to the entrance of the inn, though she waited for him to move to her side before heading back inside.. He took another deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes before he did.

They ate at first in companionable silence until Podrick split the pie and told them of the time he'd eaten one with Lady Brienne at the Crossroads Inn, and how they had been able to find Arya thanks to a well placed compliment and an out of place question.

The Stark girl shared a memory of her own, and They only spared him a moment's silence when his turn came up, and though he had many memories as well, he could not bring himself to share them. When he did not speak Lady Sansa told another. He spent the rest of the night listening to them, and though the pain of her death never left him, he at least did not feel alone in his grief.

* * *

a/n: This was gonna be a Tyrion chapter but I decided to cut out the middle man, and get to the good stuff. Finally a chapter featuring both parts of a pairing, and it's only the beginning! I'm not sure how many of you actually ship this pair, but if you don't, not to worry. Jon x Dany soon, like very soon.

Side note: I pulled House Westerling randomly from the list of sworn houses, I only recently have started reading ASoS and found out that in the books they play a larger role. Strange coincidence for those of you who know their story, though I won't be delving into it here.

Thanks for following my fic and for kudos and comments. You guys are the best.


	20. Ghost House

So we're finally here. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _I dwell in a lonely house I know, that vanished many a summer ago,  
And left no trace but the cellar walls, and a cellar in which the daylight falls…_

 _I dwell with a strangely aching heart in that vanished abode there far apart  
On that disused and forgotten road that has no dust-bath now for the toad.  
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;_

 _It is under the small, dim, summer star, I know not who these mute folk are  
Who share the unlit place with me— They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,  
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—  
With none among them that ever sings, and yet, in view of how many things,  
As sweet companions as might be had._

 _from Ghost House by Robert Frost_

 **Jon**

❄️

Shortly after Sansa left, he received word that the southern Queen had taken Pyke from Euron Greyjoy, and it was now Yara, Theon's sister, who ruled the Iron Islands. He was surprised it had not taken long, and since there'd been no mention of her dragons, it was likely she had not needed their help. She seemed a formidable foe, and he wondered when she would set her eyes North.

It had not taken long in fact. Nearly a week later, he received a letter from a messenger who bore no sigil and he was grateful the man arrived during the evening meal, as no one noticed him.

His squire, a young man three and ten named Orwen, from Bear Island was smart enough to deliver the message after he'd left the Hall, and so he was alone when he read the letter.

 _To the King in the North, the Trident and the Vale Jon Snow,_

 _As surely you have heard, I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the first of her name, the unburnt, Queen of Mereen and the Bay of Dragons, of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, breaker of chains and Mother of Dragons, have retaken the Iron Throne. I write from Pyke, where I have reseated the Iron Islands, and Yara of House Greyjoy now rules._

 _I too have heard of your appointment in the North, and as rulers of neighbouring kingdoms, it is my intention to visit Winterfell, so we may meet. As a show of good faith, no Ironborn shall raid, nor step foot, unless requested, in the North so long as Pyke remains under my protection._

 _My messenger shall bring me your decision, and I will set sail when I receive it. Our families have a turbulent past, and I hope that we may speak of peace._

 _Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen_

It was clear her visit to Winterfell was not a request, he knew she would come whether he agreed or not. He had no intention of denying her though, he'd known this day would come from the moment Littlefinger had mentioned her arrival in Dragonstone. Not wanting the messenger to linger in the North any longer than needed, he quickly fetched for paper and a quill, and had the boy wait so he could give the message directly to the man.

He did not know what to say, so he kept the reply short, as much as he could, deciding it best not to leave out her many titles.

 _To the Queen of Mereen and the Bay of Dragons, of the Andals and First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen,_

 _I and the North both welcome you by any road you choose, where you will be warmly received at any dwelling on your path. I look forward to our meeting, and to finding peace between our kingdoms._

 _King in the North, Jon Snow_

He'd not heard from Sansa since she'd left, as he'd expected. He'd be in the dark as long as she was with Littlefinger, but he decided to send word to Ser Davos at least, that the Queen would arrive on Northern land soon. He did not go as far as asking him to return, though he had asked the knight to inform him how much longer the Riverlands needed his presence.

He sealed both letters with the Stark Sigil, and the boy set off when he handed them over.

He knew she would arrive before the next moon, and neither Ser Davos nor Sansa would return in time to receive her. He had not expected to be alone in welcoming her, but it would seem he had no choice.

That night he dreamt of the crypts in Winterfell, but this time when he descended, darkness turned to light, and soon he was bathed by the glow of the moon, and he was standing suddenly before the Heart tree in the Godswood, surrounded by people. Sansa was there, a masked Knight in gold stood beside her, and Theon Greyjoy stood to her other side. Ser Davos too was there, along with Tormund, and Gendry Rivers. There were people he didn't know as well; an older woman dressed in green using a cane, a dark-skinned woman with short curly hair and a fierce expression, a younger woman stood beside her, though she did not wear a dress. A young man stood next to whom he suddenly realized was Lord Royce, and to his left stood another man, older than the boy, and younger than the Knight of the Vale, with red hair, and tired eyes.

They were all looking his way, though not everyone was looking at him, some eyes were focused to his right, and as he turned to see what fixated them so, everything went dark again, and he was in the crypts once more. From the black, the glow of a flame suddenly appeared, and before him came to stand a woman dressed in red, though it was not Melisandre. Her hair was dark, but her eyes light, and she seemed to glide towards him.

" _Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason._ "

She reached out and placed her hand on his gloveless, scarred one. Her touch was like fire, but it did not hurt.

Her eyes bore into his as she spoke, " _To wield her, you must love her._ "

He woke then, his burned hand aching, the room hot with the fire in his hearth. He threw his furs off him, and lay there, unmoving. He thought of his dream, and how through the years it was always the same, and yet it had now changed, and he knew it could not be for nothing.

❄️

The day she arrived, he'd been out of the castle, and practicing with his men in the yard for once. Gendry had been among those he trained with, and had improved vastly. Since he seemed to favour hacking, Jon had counselled him to try a warhammer, as Robert Baratheon once had. He had not been eager but now he wielded it with practiced ease. Soon, it would be time for him to swear fealty. Whether he was the son of the former King or not, Jon was glad he'd have him at his side when the true war came. He'd gotten to known the man, and trusted him, even counted him a friend.

He was about to return to the castle and clean up as the evening meal was being prepared, when he received word that she was seen on the Kingsroad and that she was on saddle and not in a carriage. He realized she would arrive in time for dinner.

Since his sister had left for the Riverlands, he sat alone at the head table, and unless she had kin he did not know of, it would be only the two of them. She was Queen, in the South but Queen nonetheless, and he thought she might be insulted if he sat her amongst his bannermen.

She had a garrison of thirty men only, and he informed the kitchens to add two tables to the great hall. When he was asked if they ought to dress the hall as well, as for a feast, he was not sure what to say. She was a guest and surely it was expected to receive her as such, but he also did not want to seem as if he were trying too hard to impress her.

So he nodded but said, "Nothing extravagant, if you would be so kind."

He bathed, and when his squire went out to set his clothing, he asked if there was anything he wished to wear in particular. The question took him by surprise, as the boy had never asked him that before. He'd known her arrival had been talked about within the castle, what he had not realized was that it seemed to be a bigger deal than he thought.

He felt ridiculous as he considered what to wear, and said, "I will wear black."

Orwen nodded, and when he dressed he noticed his squire had chosen a dark tunic though it was more grey than black and a leather doublet his sister had made for him before she left. The leather was supple and smooth, and it stitched up at the sides, instead of at the front, and it had a large white direwolf embroidered over his heart.

The next time he'd been approached, he was informed that it was time for him to head outside as she would arrive any moment now.

"Your Grace," His steward had said then, as he put on his cloak.

As he adjusted, he turned to the boy, "Yes Orwen?"

He seemed to hesitate, as if he meant to say something out of turn. Jon grinned.

"It's alright, spit it out."

"There is word that perhaps the hearths should be ordered to be extra bold, your Grace."

His brow furrowed, "Why is that?" He asked.

"Well, your Grace, this is Queen Daenerys' first visit to the North, and she's lived in the East, where it is hot..."

He trailed off and Jon understood the implication, again he smirked as he'd never even considered this.

"Have them raise the fires then," He answered simply.

The boy nodded, seeming glad of this command. He asked if there was anything else, and Jon nodded no, then he left. Once alone, he felt the pit in his stomach he had not realized was there and he left his chambers breathing steadily to try and relieve the pressure to no avail.

He stepped outside and saw that it was snowing; flakes cascaded from the sky steadily, and he knew it would not stop till the morning. In that moment, Ghost appeared across the way, as if he'd been waiting for him. When he stepped forward so did his direwolf, and as he made his way, he padded steadily behind him. Ghost would not leave him to welcome the Dragon Queen alone. When he reached the yard by the East Gate, he saw his bannermen there, including Lord Glover, and Lady Mormont, as well as his household guard, and the captains of his men.

He stood at the helm, and his friend sat at his side and luckily no sooner had they settled, the gate began to open.

As she rode in, a heavy hood hiding her face and body, four men rode in close behind her, their hair black and braided, of various lengths though all past the shoulder. Their horses were large and sturdy, and like the riders who sat upon them, heavy woollen cloths hung over their backs, and across their chests, likely they were not used to the cold either. Behind them, entered the rest of her party; a dark skinned girl with short hair that bounced as her horse moved, entered beside a thin man with the same skin tone, his hair impossibly short, and his expression serious and unafraid. Behind them entered the rest of her garrison, soldiers dressed alike in black, with helms that nearly covered their faces, and round black shields hung on their backs over their cloaks.

Her horse, white as snow, came to stop before him, and she descended with ease. As she turned to him, he caught a glimpse of her face through her hood and the fast descending snow, a flash of silver, pale blue eyes and a strong gaze. Once she stood before him, she lowered her hood, the snowflakes nearly disappearing as they fell into her hair.

He bowed first, and his people followed suit. She returned the gesture though her nod was tighter, and only the girl and her companion did the same. The four men with braids down their backs did not seem to be paying attention, instead their eyes seemed to linger on Ghost, whom he felt still calm at his side.

"Your Grace," he said looking at her. "Welcome to the North."

He could not deny she was beautiful. He could tell she was petite even despite her bulky cloak, and her skin was pale, though she had full lips, and a strong brow.

"King Jon," She answered, with a perfunctory smile.

"Thank you for your warm welcome. The lord of Torrhen's Square was a gracious host."

He nodded, feeling uncomfortable, as he was not used to dealing with Queens and Lords, nor being a King himself.

"Your journey went well I hope?"

She grinned, "It did, though it was the first time any of my men had seen snow, and felt the cold. One horse passed, that is why they are now covered. The Dothraki care deeply for their mounts."

"The stables are up the way, my men will take good care of them. And it is warm. As for your men, the guest house has been prepared for them, and a wing of the Great Keep has been prepared for you your Grace, I hope this will be suitable."

At his steward's behest, he had his household prepare Lady Catelyn's chambers, which he suddenly remembered were supposed to be the warmest in the castle. He'd tentatively advised Jon to move into the rooms of the Lord of Winterfell, which he only did as he realized what it would look like if she came to hear he slept in the small quarters he'd used as a boy. He was no great ruler, but he knew the importance of appearances, and if he hoped to get what he needed from her, he would have to play the part.

"Very much so, thank you King Jon."

He turned away from her and beckoned his squire over. Moments later the boy appeared and bowed timidly at her, to which she nodded back with a smile.

"Orwen, will you please show Queen Daenerys' men to the guest house so they may rest from their journey. Have Rohar take the horses to the stables."

"Yes your Grace," He replied before bowing to them both.

She turned to her men and spoke first to one of the four men, while another spoke to her, his tone questioning. She turned back towards him but glanced at Ghost.

"My men are curious about your pet," She started.

"He's not my pet," Jon said then.

"He's a direwolf, I found him when he was a pup, in the wolfswood. He's free to go as he pleases, though he usually comes back. His name is Ghost. "

She nodded looking at him for a moment longer before turning back to her men, and speaking to them in their unknown tongue. The man spoke again, but by her tone she refused whatever it was he wanted to know. He did not argue, and she turned to the other, more serious men. She spoke again, but the dialect was different, smoother, and more elaborate. They saluted all at once, and turned to his squire who waited to show them the way. As they departed, four of her guard, the young woman and the thin soldier remained at her side.

"I'll have someone show you to your chambers, your Grace. The evening meal will be ready soon. I can have someone fetch you whatever you need."

She nodded, but said nothing, only stepped forward as he turned. She walked beside him towards the Keep, though she did not hook her arm into his, and he was grateful.

Once they reached the keep he realized he was alone with only her and her escort, and though he did not believe she meant to kill him, he was grateful Ghost had remained by his side. He was not surprised none of her men nor the girl seemed to fear him, with dragons, a direwolf must seem like a pup.

When they arrived at the stairwell that would lead to her rooms, Winterfell's new steward, Rolan Kell, stood waiting.

"Rolan will show you to your chambers, your Grace," He said then.

She nodded and he lingered until she was out of sight before returning to his solar to wait.

Knowing the Great Hall would be hot he wore no cloak though he kept his gloves, and when the meal was ready he met her once more near the entrance of the Great Keep.

She had chosen to wear hers, though it was not the same one as before, it was thinner and the wings of a silver dragon held it together. Her dress underneath was crimson velvety and dark, and she looked all a Targaryen. Braids with small bells laced through them held her hair back, but it cascaded down her shoulders. Her sleeves ended at her wrists, but she wore short black leather gloves, leaving a sliver of skin exposed.

"I hope you are rested and everything was to your liking, your Grace," He said when she stood before him.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingered on the wolf's head embroidered on his chest before she replied, "Yes thank you, your Grace."

She reached out then, and took his arm. He tensed for a moment, feeling her hand cover his bicep, but recovered quickly. They walked the path in silence, and by her tight grip on his arm, he could tell she was cold. He tried not to smile, but could not help it.

"What?" She asked, her tone inquisitive, having caught his reaction.

"I'm so accustomed to the cold, I sometimes forget others are not."

"As I am of fire," She answered coldly.

He was certain he'd offended her though he wasn't sure exactly how, so he said nothing and lowered his lips. They walked in silence the rest of the way.

It was quiet when they entered the Great Hall though not because it was empty; all eyes were on them as they approached the dais and no one so much as moved though he heard the murmur of whispers as they passed.

He tensed self-consciously and looked over to his companion wondering if she felt the same, but her face was still ice. She hardly seemed to remember _him_ let alone notice the hush of the crowd and their peering eyes.

At dinner they did not speak much, as various people presented themselves to her. He asked her of her journey, and of Torrhen's Square, but not of anything else. The other matters were for another day. She accepted this as she brought up nothing either, only asked him of the weather and how his people dealt with it.

It was not until lady Lyanna made her introduction that Queen Daenerys' ire finally waned.

"You Grace," she said through near gritted teeth, bowing slightly before she began to turn to leave. She did not intend on introducing herself that much was clear. Jon wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or amused by her brusqueness but it seemed the Queen chose the latter.

"And who are you?" Daenerys asked, grinning.

She turned back, and did not hesitate, "Lyanna of House Mormont, Lady of Bear Island."

Her smile faltered for a moment, he only caught it because he'd been trying to gage her reaction. Her expression softened suddenly, and her lips turned up, though it was more bittersweet than joyful.

"I knew- _know_ ," She corrected herself, "Your relative, Ser-"

"My uncle betrayed his vow the day he tried to sell his own people. He is a slaver and a traitor."

She sobered once more, "That he was. But people can change, and sometimes forgiveness is more important than our pride."

It sounded as if she knew it all too well, and though he had heard of the exiled knight and had always seen him as a vile man, it seemed she did not share his judgement. Lady Lyanna seemed to realize this as well as she said nothing.

Queen Daenerys seemed to remember herself then, and with a flutter of her eyelashes she was indifferent once more.

"Perhaps someday you will meet him and see him for the man that I know him to be."

The girl bowed, this time more deferentially, looked at him for a moment and then left.

She lingered a little while after the meal was done, and they sat in silence watching those around them until she finally spoke.

"There are many great matters I wish to speak to you of, though I suppose tonight is not the night. In the morrow."

He said nothing, only nodded, the notion filled him with dread of what was to come. She was kind enough to pretend she had not noticed, and changed the topic of conversation instead.

"If you would be so kind as to ask your household to keep my hearth hot, I would be grateful. It seems I am not quite accustomed to the cold."

"Of course, your Grace. I will ask them to do the same for your men and their horses too."

She was not sure if he was teasing her or not, but he did not seem the type so she said nothing of it.

"Thank you King Jon," She answered, standing.

He followed suit and the hall grew quiet, "I'd be glad to accompany you back to the Great Keep. I think I will call it a night as well."

He turned to the people before him and bid them goodnight, and she did the same. When he turned to leave, he felt her hand hook his arm, and he stilled for a moment before he lead them out. He could not deny, he was not accustomed to leading a lady out, let alone a Queen.

When they were inside the Keep, he bid her goodnight, and she thanked him for his hospitality before returning the words. This time they turned at the same time, and he did not look back.

Once inside his own chambers, he did not forget to send message to keep her hearth hot, while his in turn burned low.

That night he dreamt again, but not of the godswood. He descended into the crypts as he usually did, and in the darkness appeared light. But instead of the woman in red, it was a young man who approached but he held no candle, the light instead seemed to radiate from him. It was then that Jon recognized his face. He was much older than he'd last seen him and though he stood on his two feet, Jon knew it was him.

His brother Bran.

* * *

a/n: So I hope I did their meeting justice. I know it wasn't love at first sight, but trust they'll get there. Let me know what you think.

I also wanna thank everyone who's reviewed, especially for that last chapter, you guys are too kind!


	21. After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _After great pain, a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –  
The stiff Heart questions 'was it He, that bore,' And 'Yesterday, or Centuries before'?  
The Feet, mechanical, go round – A Wooden way…_

 _This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived,  
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –  
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go._

 _from After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes by Emily Dickenson_

 **Daenerys**

æ

With Yara secure in her seat, she sailed North. Theon and his lady sister remained in Pyke, as she thought it prudent not to bring any ironborn on this trip to Winterfell. There was no love between the northerners and the islanders, and she knew once she secured the rest of her kingdoms, she would have to try end that feud, and it would not be easy.

Missandei and Greyworm accompanied her, as well as a large group of her Unsullied and a few Dothraki who wished to see the snow. She had thought to bring Tyrion, but they could not both be away from the capital, not yet, and lord Varys was not a suitable replacement. No southern lords would suit her neither, not in the North, so she only brought the East with her, and hoped there would be no conflict. It was not her way to be accommodating, but Lord Tyrion told her that it would be easier to sway the northerners to her side if she did not bring their enemies or the South with her, and so she complied.

They docked in the Sunspear then took two smaller boats up the river to Torrhen's Square, where they spent the eve. In the early morning they travelled by horse, and would surely reach Winterfell by nightfall. She'd made sure she and her company were well bundled for their journey and stay, though it was still cold. Lord Tyrion had a cloak made for her trip north, and she was grateful he had. It was dark and made of tightly woven wool lined with soft fur, and it had a hood with a thick black fur trim that covered her ears even when pushed back. It was bulky but it kept her warm, and she did not mind.

When they arrived, the gates were open and torches lit the way in. When she set her eyes upon him, the heart in her breast pumped faster, her blood rushing through her veins as if it thrilled in something she knew not. She was glad for the thick wool and fur that covered the burn on her cheek, and the chill that ran through her body.

He did not wear a crown, nor jewels or gold, but beside him sat a large white wolf with red eyes, and he looked like a king. She was not sure what she'd expected, but he was not at all what she thought. He was not tall and imposing, instead he was somber and gentle. Two thin scars slashed at either eye, and she briefly wondered how many others littered his body. She was surprised to find that the idea sent a thrill between her legs.

So as not to give herself away, she did not touch him as they walked side by side, and did not look back when they parted, and so she could not be certain if he watched her leave, though she felt his eyes on her till she was out of sight.

æ

After supper and she was settled in her chambers, Greyworm returned to the guest house with his men, and the Dothraki, while Missandei remained at her side, as did a guard of four unsullied.

"What did your Grace think of King Jon?' Missandei asked as she undid one of Daenerys braids.

She knew the girl meant nothing by it, but she was not sure how to answer. He was handsome, of that she was sure, but he seemed sad and guilt ridden, as if he carried a great load on his shoulders.

She decided on a playful answer, "He seems a fair ruler, though a bit on the brooding side."

The girl from Essos giggled lightly. "Perhaps he was Unsullied in a past life your Grace."

"Perhaps, though I hope not, at least not entirely," Daenerys smiled.

Missandei blushed when she got her meaning, but did not say anything.

That night she slept restlessly, and she dreamt of Rhaego and the night he died, and of blood...

Then Missandei was shaking her, her voice trembling, "Your grace, your grace, please wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open, and suddenly her stomach ached, and she felt wetness between her legs. Her friend had not removed the furs, so she did, and she saw it. Her night gown and some of the mattress was wet with red.

"Let me fetch someone to help you," The girl from Essos plead.

"No," She answered seriously.

"Instead fetch some cloths, some water and my other warm gown. And something for the mattress, we must remove the cover, but after."

When Missandei did not move she shushed her off, and finally the girl went to get what she required. She slid off the bed, and pulled her dress over her head. She moved to a chair, and naked, crumpled her gown and sat on it while she bled. She was not too worried, she'd not had her moon in some time, and it was sometimes heavy, though never quite like it was in that moment.

Her friend soon returned, and she cleaned up as best she could, made some bandages for herself, and threw her clean nightgown on, and had Missandei fetch her cloak and drape it over the chair she sat on. By the time morning approached, the bleeding had lessened and she felt hollow, but asked Missandei to request a hot bath, excruciatingly hot she had specified.

Thankfully, they had done as requested, and when she submersed herself in the near boiling water, she felt better. When she left the warmth of the water, she realized she wanted nothing more than to spend the day in her bed. It felt as if she'd lost something, though she did not know what. Missandei had cleaned it and changed the cover, and dressed in her woollen shift, she lied once more under the heavy furs.

She had Missandei burn everything that had been bloodied, and sent her to apologize and notify the King that she would remain in her chambers for breakfast. When she returned, he had sent word that all was well, not to hesitate if she needed anything, and to send word with his steward when she was ready. Shortly after, her meal arrived.

She felt a little better after she ate, and though she would send for his steward to meet him, she felt the need to stretch her legs before she did. Missandei braided her hair loosely and she put on her warmest dress and wore her heavy cloak, and though she would have preferred to go alone, her guard of Unsullied accompanied her to the Godswood. The yard by the East Gate was not full yet there were people moving about though they stopped and bowed as she walked by, their eyes heavy on her and her men. Once they were alone within the enclosure, she managed to convince them to wait there inside the gates.

The sun was still in the sky, though soon it would begin to descend. It was cold yet there was no wind, so it was not so bad. She walked amongst the trees, enjoying the silence and the sounds of the woods. It was her first time in a true Godswood; she'd roamed the one in King's Landing but it had only felt like a wooded garden. Here, she could not explain it, but she sensed something greater than she, something akin to what she felt when her dragons stood before her.

Though there was white all around her, when she saw the great white trunk near barren though some red leaves remained, she realized it was a Heart tree. She had only heard of them because of Ser Jorah, and she approached when she remembered he'd told her they all had faces carved into them. As she drew closer, she kept her eyes on the trunk searching for eyes, nose or mouth. Once she was close and still saw nothing she assumed she was on the wrong side and finally tore her eyes from the tree to move around it. And then she saw a figure seated by the small pool of water sharpening a long blade with a whetstone.

She quickly realized it was King Jon, and his eyes were closed so he did not seem to notice she was there. She stood still for a moment, deciding whether to speak or leave, and chose the latter as it seemed he was either in deep thought or in prayer. She turned to leave and suddenly there was a quick bark, from the direwolf she had not realized was lying beside him.

His eyes opened immediately, and as he looked around he saw her. His hand stilled but he did not remove the whetstone from the blade.

"Your Grace," He said, his voice sounding as if it were a happy surprise. "I hope you did not trouble yourself to find me."

"No not at all, King Jon," She answered lightly. "I did not know you were here, I only meant to get some fresh air. My apologies, I will interrupt you no longer."

She began to take her leave when he spoke.

"You do not interrupt anything Queen Daenerys, I only came for fresh air as well."

It was the first time he'd said her name, and she liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. He slid the whetstone one last time down the edge of his blade and then left it beside the rock he sat on and stood, sliding his steel into the scabbard at his side. He stepped towards her.

"And as I am here," He continued once he was before her, "I may as well pray to the gods of my ancestors, and sharpen my blade for the war to come."

 _War to come?_ She wanted to ask but didn't. She did not truly bow to any god, the only beliefs she'd learned were the ways of the Dothraki, but she had not though of their gods in a long time.

She nodded, but did not know what to say, and so said the only thing that came to mind. "It is a beautiful tree."

His lips went up slightly before he spoke, "It used to frighten me as a child. My brother Robb-"

He paused, and she remembered Tyrion had told her his brother had been killed, and by his silence, she knew he mourned him still. She'd only ever truly had Viserys, and he'd died in front of her and she'd felt nothing. She wondered what it must be like to have a brother or sister that was dear and close. He had five and clearly loved them all. Two were dead she knew, two were missing, and the only he had left was in the south with her uncle. She'd not been bothered by this fact, though she had hoped to meet Sansa Stark, to get a feel for her.

Her thoughts turned back to him when he resumed, "He used to tell me the sap that dripped from the eyes was blood of the dead past."

She had still not seen the face clearly, and turning towards the tree moved away from him as she took a few steps towards the face. It was carved simply, though there was great depth in the eyes, and she could see why such a face would scare a child.

She turned back to him, "That face would frighten me as well."

His expression softened but he seemed more solemn than glad.

"Its eyes, I always felt as it were watching me. Strange that I feel now only solace in its somber expression."

She understood this too, not from experience but because she knew, the old gods were the gods of his father, and Jon surely loved his father as he loved his siblings. It would not be kind to say as much, so she did not. Neither spoke for a few seconds, he seemed to be lost in thought and she did not know how to respond. She was not accustomed to sharing her feelings let alone dealing with others.

"Forgive me," He said finally, looking at her. The moment was gone, and his expression collected. He opened his mouth to explain himself but she spoke first.

"There is no need."

And then before he could respond, the earth felt shaky beneath her, her knees grew weak and suddenly the ground drew closer but before she collided into it, she felt a strong arm grasp hers and another at her back hold her up.

"Are you alright?"

She was not in fact, but she could not bring herself to admit it.

"Yes, I'm fine," She lied.

She moved to straighten herself out of his grip, but the dizziness returned, forcing her to lean back into him once more.

"Perhaps I should sit down for a moment," She said, giving in.

He nodded, and led her over to the rock he'd just been sitting on. The direwolf had not moved from his spot, and only whined a little as they approached. When she sat, the white wolf lifted his muzzle and sniffed in her direction. She realized he'd caught the scent of blood by the sudden glare in his eyes, but she did not let herself fear, she was the Mother of Dragons after all.

Instead, she smiled. "It may be he smells my dragons."

The king had also realized the wolf's sudden shift, but he did not seem to understand why.

"Ghost," He said then his voice steely and deep.

The direwolf turned to him almost immediately, and as they shared a look the animal calmed once more, gave her one last glance then laid his head down once more.

"I apologize your Grace, though he would not have harmed you."

Still feeling faint she answered softly, "No, I did not think he would."

His gaze lingered for a moment on his wild companion, and she closed her eyes hoping it might stop the ground from spinning. She realized now, it had not been a good idea to venture so far.

"How are you feeling?"

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with a look of concern. Her lips turned up haphazardly in appreciation.

"I think I'll return to my chambers, it seems I've had enough fresh air for now."

She still did not feel well and was grateful the guard that had accompanied her in the end, were not far off. If need be, though she preferred it not, she could have one of them carry her up.

"Perhaps that is for the best," He replied with a nod, and held his arm out for her to take.

His concern was kind, though she resented him for it. This was not how she'd planned on their meeting going. She'd accepted that she would marry him, but she would not play the role of dutiful wife. She was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and the North was _hers_ , by right. She had intended to make sure he knew that if need be, she took what was hers with fire and blood. Instead, she was here, playing his guest and looking all the damsel, and him the gallant knight. Still, she took his arm, as she truly had no other choice.

His direwolf Ghost did not follow them as they departed to the entrance gate, though he watched them leave. They walked in silence, and she wondered if he sensed her unease. They reached her men then, looking cold though standing guard as ever.

She began to pull away from his grasp ready to part with her Unsullied when he spoke.

"I would feel better if I escorted you to your chambers your Grace," He said in the same attentive manner.

She nodded appreciatively, though she'd been slightly taken aback by the offer.

One of her Unsullied, who called himself 'Leech' lead them out, while the other three followed behind.

The silence resumed, that is until they reached the courtyard. The vast circular space was busy with work; women walking past with large containers in their arms, some with vegetables and others with meats, likely preparing for the evening meal. There were men training in the yard, some with sword and shield, others with bow and arrow. There was even a man, large in build with dark hair covering half his face, with a giant hammer in hand, hacking away at his opponent, not unskilfully.

She remembered suddenly her brother Rhaegar, and the usurper Robert Baratheon who'd slain him with the same sort of weapon.

"Your men, " The King said then, interrupting her thoughts.

She turned away from the man, bringing her eyes up to his.

"They are the last of the Unsullied, are they not?" He asked, sounding both awed and curious.

"And the first to be free men," She answered, her voice regaining some of her usual austerity.

"They are lucky to have found you."

She was sure he did not mean offence by this, and truly, in some way, they were luckier than most. But she could not help think on all those that had died in her name, and so she spoke without thinking.

"As lucky as the Wildlings were to have found you."

By his response she realized she had pierced too deeply, and regretted herself. Embarrassed she turned away from him, her eyes trying to fixate elsewhere. It was then she noticed, that even though the courtyard bustled with movement, all attention was on them. She was sure she was overreacting as they could not have heard, but they all seemed to look at her with resentful eyes.

They reached the Great Keep as she meant to apologize, so she waited for Leech to lead them inside using the time to find the right way to explain herself.

"I beg your pardon King Jon," She began, once the door was closed behind them.

He finally turned to her and she felt all the more terrible by the pained expression on his face.

"There is no need," He answered solemnly, repeating her earlier words. "It was I who spoke out of turn first."

"Without intention," She countered. "Sometimes the fire of the dragon gets the better of me."

He did not speak, only gave her a tight nod before turning his gaze forward. They reached the stairs and ascended, only the sound of their steps and those of her men, filling the air around them. She'd long since forgotten her ailments, and though she focused on something to say, she could not find the words.

She was not accustomed to this feeling of regret and shame, and as they continued to walk, she felt it more and more, and began to resent him for it. She was the Queen, and she'd apologized though he'd crossed the line first, but she had not held it against him. Yet it seemed as if he meant to hold it against her. Fire built in her blood, so that by the time they reached her rooms there was nothing but the fury of the Targaryen left in her.

She pulled away before he let go, and moved to the door Leech had already opened for her, only turning back to face him when she'd reached it.

"Thank you, King Jon for your attention," She spoke with ice in her tone.

She was not sure he noticed, and this infuriated her even more.

"I hope you feel better your Grace, and if you require anything only send word and Rolan will fetch anything you need."

With a bow, he excused himself and left. She did not watch him leave instead she turned to Leech and said, "Fetch Missandei. And have his man bring me a pitcher of wine."

He nodded, and she slammed the door shut behind her.

æ

It was late afternoon by the time she'd resolved to regain balance in their positions, and though she was not fully recovered, she sent word that she would like to discuss matters with him at his earliest convenience.

When his steward Rolan returned, he informed her that he would escort her to the King's solar whenever she pleased.

"I am ready now," She announced, standing.

He bowed, and moved towards the door and as promised, Rolan took her and Missandei to his solar. She looked around as she entered, and was surprised to find he was alone. She turned and gave her friend a nod and she remained outside, just as his steward bowed and took his leave.

She had already taken a seat across from him as the door closed behind them. There was a moment of silence where neither spoke though it did not last long.

"King Jon," She began, her voice steady and strong.

"As I'm sure you've realized, I did not travel all this way so that we may only _talk_. I do not know what you have heard of me, but surely you know our kingdoms cannot remain divided as they are."

She meant to continue but he spoke instead, "No they cannot."

This took her by surprise, but she did not address it, instead she resumed where he'd interrupted.

"I mean to unite the realms of man, by any means necessary. And now, only the North, the Vale and the Riverlands stand in my way."

"You mean _I_ stand in your way. I would gladly take off my crown, if only it were true. And if I did not wish for the same thing."

She hesitated for a moment, as she did not understand his meaning. She did however, realize that he did not exactly intend on giving up his kingship. This displeased her even though she'd had no intention on asking him to relinquish it. So she could not help the acidic quality in her tone as she replied, "If it was your _crown_ I needed, we would not be speaking now."

He seemed to have picked up on the tenor of her voice as he suddenly stiffened, his courteous demeanour suddenly gone.

"If it is not my crown you want Queen Daenerys, then what is it that you want?"

It would be easy, to tell him what she wanted. But for reasons she could not understand, his manner bothered her more than it should have. She took a deep breath, in an effort to diffuse some of the ire she'd been carrying since their meeting in the Godswood.

"I do not seek to start a war, but it will not do me to subdue a northern king as my ancestors once did. It united the kingdoms, but it did not bring peace. My father still killed your grandfather and uncle. Your father and half the kingdoms still rebelled and my family died."

She had not named her intentions, but her words seemed to diffuse him somewhat.

"Still you have not said what you want," He said then, trying to sound civil.

Daenerys thought it was obvious, though she hadn't come out and spoken the words, there were not many ways of uniting kingdoms that did not involve war.

"It is not obvious King Jon?" She inquired nearly smiling.

He frowned at her for a moment, and she almost wanted to laugh at him, as it was clear he did not yet realize what she meant.

"We must marry. It is the only way we will find true peace without bloodshed."

He froze then, it seemed it was not the answer he'd been expecting. Finally she did grin, feeling as if she had the upper hand once more. She decided it was a good moment to take her leave, before he could find his words.

She stood, "It is a lot to consider, I will give you some time to think on it."

"King Jon," She bowed, still feeling the smirk on her face, though she tried lessening the show of it on her lips.

She was nearing the door when he finally spoke.

"I am ready to accept your offer," He began, his voice firm.

It was her turn now to be surprised, but she refused to let it show, and turned to face him, trying to seem pleased in his acceptance. She opened her mouth to speak, but he did not let her.

"Though there is something that I want as well."

She wanted to tell him that he was in no position to make demands, and that he should consider himself lucky with the proposal she'd made. His realm might be larger, but his army was not, and her hand in marriage was a better deal than he seemed to realize.

Instead intrigued, she took a step closer and asked, "And what is that?"

He did not hesitate.

"The support of your army. And your dragons, when the time comes."

She was more taken aback by the request than she'd expected to be, and so for a moment she did not move nor speak.

"It is a lot to consider," He said then, a smile finding its way onto his mouth as he repeated her words, though it was genuine and unlike the grin she'd given him. He'd done it only once before, and she had been too cold to notice how becoming it was on him, and she had to admit, it was quite a sight.

"I will give you some time to think on it," He finished.

Her intention to keep the upper hand would not let her leave it at that.

"It is not time I need, but why."

I will tell you your Grace," His formality returning. Then he too stood and moved around the table and towards her, stopping before her.

He peered down at her, though he was not much taller than her, and while she was used to men gazing at her with lustful eyes, this was different.

"Though today is not the day. You are not yet fully recovered. And it is not an easy conversation."

She might have been angered by his words if not for the tone of them. He did not intend to belittle her, instead he actually seemed concerned. She would let him have this, just this once, only because she did in fact feel a little light headed. She would not say as much of course.

"Very well," She answered simply.

"I think I will retire, so that we may _both_ think on what has been said today. As I am sure there are many details we will need to work out."

There were a few things on her mind already, one in particular, but he was right, today was not the day for that.

"As am I," He grinned politely, then moved to the door and opened it.

He waited for her to pass through it first before crossing himself and closing it behind him. He extended his arm, or rather the crook of his elbow, and despite herself, she hooked her hand around his forearm and accepted his silent offer to escort her back, Missandei and her guard following silently behind, though she did not miss the girl's amused expression.

After they walked for a bit, he finally spoke.

"Will you take supper in the Great Hall this evening your Grace?"

She looked over locking eyes with him and she was suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity so intense for a moment she was unable to answer him. She only remembered herself when she noticed he'd suddenly become uneasy in her silence, and though she was not sure exactly how long she had gazed at him it had been long enough that a light blush had creeped onto his cheeks. Remembering herself when she could not place it, she turned away, and from the corner of her eye she saw him do the same.

"Yes I think I will," She answered not looking at him, hoping she sounded ambivalent though she did not feel it.

She had missed the morning meal already and she did not think it wise to miss another. Or at least that is what she told herself.

* * *

a/n: Something I wanna say about Jon and Dany's relationship is that it is definitely a slow burn. Jon's chapter was more reserved because I imagine him uncomfortable in his new role, though knowing he has to play it, and for good reason, therefore being too nervous to really focus on anything else. As for Dany, and this chapter, I can't imagine her not trying to exert her power over a man she does not know, who is king of lands she considers her own, thereby forcing her to deny her own baser impulses.

They will definitely fall for each other, but I'm really enjoying playing on this kind of hot and cold (get it?) interaction and tbh, I can't imagine their meeting going any other way. Hope you like, and bear with me.

Thanks for reading, and reviewing and following my little story. You guys are the best.


	22. We Never Know How High We Are

Sorry for the delay! Chapter was written in two days so might not be my best work.

* * *

 _We never know how high we are  
_ _Till we are asked to rise  
_ _And then if we are true to plan  
_ _Our statures touch the skies—_

 _The Heroism we recite  
_ _Would be a normal thing  
_ _Did not ourselves the Cubits warp,  
_ _For fear to be a King—_

 _We Never Know How High We Are by Emily Dickenson_

 **Gendry**

Ω

A lot had changed in a such a short time, he could hardly believe he was ready. He'd grown fond of the armoury of Winterfell, and though he would not leave the castle, he would no longer call the forge his home.

He gripped the hammer tightly, knowing it would be the last time, and pounded at the pliant steel, forcing it to bend to his will.

He'd never made such a weapon, not by himself, but he remembered how it was done. It was one of his better memories of master Tobho. It was not a popular choice as most soldiers and knights preferred longswords to war hammers, but the old man had insisted he learn.

He'd taken care to teach him how it was done, with a sort of strange determination, that at the time Gendry had took for fatherly regard. Only now he knew it was because the man had known who his real father was. He could only assume Mott hoped to give him something of Robert Baratheon in the only way he knew, or perhaps he wanted to remind the king of his bastard son. He could not say for sure in any case, and yet the memory remained dear to him.

He'd never aspired to more than the fate of an armourer, perhaps one with a good reputation, but no more. Then when master Tobho had sold him and he'd lost it, he realized he'd hoped for too much. He was nothing more than a bastard of Fleabottom who would likely live a short brutal existence forgotten on an ice wall, and no more.

When he'd lost that as well, it had not surprised him how quickly he'd offered his services to her enemies, (who were his own too in fact) but he could not pass up a chance at that old idea of what his life would be. Then he'd given that up because a small girl had made him believe he could have better than that.

The force of his hammer reverberated in the room as he hit the metal with more power than necessary when he remembered what happened after that. He was not sure what he'd do if he ever saw them again, the men who claimed brotherhood and had sold him like cattle, or the witch who wanted to burn him.

He shook his head to try and dispel the notion as he realized he did not want to think on it. He focused instead on the weapon and what it was truly for. King Jon had told him that the Others; wights and whitewalkers, had returned and he knew the man well enough to know it was no lie.

The realization of this only brought him back to the secret that had long since been bothering him. Jon was king, and yet he was also a friend. He had bonded with the man in the time that he'd been there, whether because they were both bastards, or because their blood was Stark and Baratheon, he was not sure, but he knew he could not pledge fealty to Jon and continue to lie to him. He had to tell the truth and soon, before he bent knee.

But first, he had to temper the steel in his hands.

Ω

He'd not been nervous about disclosing his secret, at least not at first, but now that he was heading to King Jon's solar, he felt tense and every step his feet felt like more and more like lead. It did not help when one the guards told him that the king had been looking for him.

He entered the room, trying to forget his sweaty palms and the pit in his stomach, and hoping he did not look as abashed as he felt. He was lucky as King Jon seemed immersed in the paper in his hands.

"You Grace," He bowed deciding to keep his head down until he was addressed.

"Gendry, come take a seat," He heard the king say so he looked up expecting the man's solemn gaze but found that he was writing instead.

He nodded though it went unseen and moved to the empty chair across the table and sat, waiting for whatever it was he'd been summoned for. He was relieved he would be able to ease into the topic instead of having to explain the reason for his visit the moment he'd arrived. A long moment passed, and it was not until King Jon pressed the seal into the hot wax that he looked up.

"Apologies, urgent matters I must attend to."

He tried to smile, though it was clear there were other things on his mind, then he lifted his arm two scrolls held lightly in his hand turned his gaze away and called out for his squire.

The boy arrived shortly after and took the proffered items with only a passing glance to him before he left the room, this time heading out through the door Gendry had just entered.

Once they were alone, the King finally turned to him, his expression heavier than usual.

"You must be wondering why I've sent for you, and though you have no need to worry there is something I must ask."

He'd managed to reign in his nerves, or so he thought, but at Jon's words he felt himself go stiff.

"Yes, your Grace?" He managed to reply with a steady voice.

A moment passed before the King spoke.

"It seems your time in the armoury has come to an end much sooner than I'd expected."

Gendry had known this already so he was not sure why King Jon had brought it up, not until he continued, "Tomorrow- I must ask that you pledge your oath and serve the North and myself. There are few I am sure of, and they are all most gone. I will need good council, and someone I can trust, and I will need it soon."

He did not say anything at first, only nodded. The king had revealed much in his speech, and though his words had been vague, Gendry understood something or someone was coming to Winterfell. He realized then that he could not wait any longer.

"I will be glad to swear fealty your Grace, but there is something I must tell you. Something that I have kept hidden since before I arrived in the North."

King Jon did not speak, though he suddenly appeared tense, and more somber than was his usual custom.

"As I have told you your Grace, I'm only a bastard from Fleabottom no more, my mother merely a tavern wench, but the man who was never my father-" He hesitated.

The Lannisters wanted Gendry dead because he shared the same blood as the old king, and yet he was nothing to him but a name. With resignation, he finally spoke the truth very few knew.

"He was of noble blood- From a great House. "

When he looked over to see how his words had been received, the Northern king seemed almost relieved.

"King Robert," He said, his words more statement than question.

He could not help his surprise, "You know?" He asked, throwing in a hasty 'your Grace' a second later.

King Jon did not seem to notice or care.

"I suspected. My sister Sansa was in the city when it happened- when they slaughtered children. Babes and little boys in the streets-" His voice trailed off and Gendry did not dare speak in the gravity of his silence.

A moment later, he continued, "And though I hardly knew the king, it is hard to deny that you resemble him, and his kin, even for a fool like me."

He grinned halfheartedly, as he usually did, and though he knew the words were intended as a joke, Gendry knew he truly meant them. He'd learned much of King Jon though the man had revealed very little, and it was clear he was still unsure of the crown on his head, as he was not sure he deserved it, or if he could handle it.

As a fellow bastard of a noble house, he understood this, but he had also heard what had happened to King Jon, various accounts of it in fact, but what always held true was that the men of the Night's watch had betrayed him, and killed him. The Red Priestess had brought him back, the very same woman who'd wanted to burn him.

He would never forget the day the Hound had nearly sliced Ser Beric Dondarrion in half, and he'd come back. King Jon did not resemble the wounded knight in any way, yet there was a heaviness in him that was very much like the Lightning Lord.

He wanted to assure him, give the man confidence he desperately needed, and yet he could not.

"I understand why you remained silent, but I thank you for telling me the truth. I will keep your secret if it is what you wish, though I hope you do not. You are the last of House Baratheon, bastard or no, and I may need your support in the future."

Gendry wanted to acquiesce to the King's request, and yet again, he could not. He was not ready, not yet.

"If the time comes your Grace, it will be my duty and honour. Though for the time being, I hope it is not too bold of me to ask your Grace to keep it. It is not a title I have yet earned."

King Jon seemed more disappointed than displeased, and yet he nodded in acquiescence.

It was that night, at the evening meal that King Jon announced the impending arrival of the new Queen in the South, Daenerys of House Targaryen. There were murmurs in the great hall, the faint whisper of dragon and fire before the king's next words silenced them.

"I have sent word to all not present here, that she will be welcomed in the North."

The room remained quiet for a moment, before hushed voices filled the air, this time more forcefully. It did not appear as if they were pleased with this verdict. Again he spoke.

"She comes to speak of peace and _we_ do not seek to start a war with the South. She is not our enemy, and we will need her army if we are to win, and her land and ships if we do not."

The implication was clear, both his intention for true peace, and how far he would go to keep them safe, and the dissent dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. The king had never had solid proof of the enemy he claimed was heading their way, and yet, save for a few, most believed him without contest. Gendry had heard of the expression 'the North remembers', yet he had not known how deep the meaning ran. The King might not see it, but he had the people's trust, obedience and respect.

At their continued silence, King Jon nodded gratefully to them all, before he took his seat without another word. The room resumed in its bustle, everyone suddenly returning to their meals, drink and conversations, and though it seemed as though all was forgotten, he was sure they would speak of nothing else once they left the Great Hall.

* * *

a/n: Kind of a short chapter, mainly because I wanted to get this out as its been so long since I last updated. Sorry about that. I just started a new job and have less time these days, so the next couple of chapters might be the same. Thanks for sticking it out and waiting!

I'll try to post the next chapter soon.


	23. If It Be Your Will

Not my best work, but it'll have to do. Dying to get to the next chapter.

* * *

 _If it be your will, if there is a choice... let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell.  
And draw us near and bind us tight, all your children here in their rags of light;  
In our rags of light, all dressed to kill; and end this night, if it be your will. _

_from If It Be Your Will by Leonard Cohen_

 **Arya**

å

It had not taken her long to find them. The little village was in ruins, and it only served to show how their numbers had truly dwindled. She realized quickly it would be no difficult task to infiltrate their camp and strike the names from her list.

She made her way in that same night, after the sun had long since descended, and the men still awake were either drinking or drunk. No one noticed her, as she'd expected.

Most of the cottages were burnt to a crisp, the ones that were not were destroyed in some way, either there was no door, or the wall had sunken in from the heat of a nearby flame, crumbled and withered by time. Most of the roofs had large holes that let in sun and rain alike, but their numbers were few enough that all except those on watch, were inside the most habitable ones, around a fire in the hearth or a made one in the corner or centre of a room.

She saw Thoros of Myr first, gazing deep into the fire. Across from him lay Beric, fast asleep. Behind them both further from the flame, lay another man, half hidden in darkness.

Smiling, she unsheathed her dagger. It would be easy slitting the red priest's throat first, then Beric's and that would be the end of the Brotherhood and their lies. The other man would not even hear her do it. She'd be long gone before he finally stirred and found them dead.

She slithered in silently, ready to strike Thoros for the life he stole and stole again. There was only one god, and the red priest would pay the debt owed.

"Death is no god child. Only darkness."

He turned to face her, his blade unsheathed. She was not sure how he seemed to know what she was thinking, perhaps he didn't, perhaps he knew what she was, who she served. But in truth, it did not matter.

"And you are no priest, only a slaver, and a thief. The world doesn't need you and your looting brotherhood anymore, and you and your knight owe me a debt, and I intend on collecting."

She raised her arm and stepped forward knowing her blade would find the soft of his neck long before he brought his own down to cut her in half. But then she jerked still, as a familiar voice suddenly spoke.

"They're just men, though maybe not this one anymore," He motioned to Beric and she realized he too was awake gazing at her, his eyes hard, yet he had not drawn.

She finally looked over to the man who'd spoken, and it was him of course as she'd known by the rasp of his words. He was still obscured by darkness, but he looked near the same, only there was something unfamiliar in his gaze, something she could not place.

fight, gone was his childish anger, and in its place

"They're stupid cunts, I'll give you that," He continued. "But they're not worth the effort it would take to cut off their heads, nor the blood on your hands. Let it go little she-wolf."

"What do you know of the blood on my hands?"

She held her steel firmly, though she turned away from him and focused on Thoros once more. She made to move when again he interrupted her.

"You nearly did me in for. Though to be fair it was the blonde bitch who did most of the work. You never thanked me for that as I remember."

She wanted to laugh at him, as she understood what he meant; that he'd stood up for her that day against that tall woman who looked more knight than lady. Instead she only turned to him and smiled.

"Don't recall asking you to."

It was a low blow she knew it, and it had worked, for he did not argue. She looked away, returning her gaze to her first target, and inched forward. From the corner of her eye she saw Beric place his hand over the pommel of his weapon.

"So tell me little wolf, am I still on that list of yours? You plan on slitting my throat since you didn't truly kill me?"

His words finally struck her, and unsure how to answer that, she remained silent for a moment. Truthfully, she had removed him long ago. Not because she thought him dead, though she did, but because she had come to realize he was not like his brother, there was good in him though he tried hard to hide it. She could not tell him this of course, not without revealing her own feelings.

Without looking at the one she'd thought dead, the one death she'd come to regret, she answered.

"I haven't decided, but you'll be the first to know when I do."

Surprisingly he did not react to her words, though vague, held the promise of a threat.

It was then that Thoros spoke, "The young lad, Gendry, he's not dead."

She hardly flinched.

"How do you know that?" Her voice was hard and cold, and her body coiled tight ready to act as she waited for his reply.

"The Lord of Light is not unmerciful."

Her resolve found her once more and just as she was finally ready to end this charade once and for all, the Hound moved forward.

"I've got someone else from your little list, someone worth killing. Seems you're tough enough to take'm now, seeing as you almost killed me. And these two."

He smiled and she got the feeling it wasn't intended as a compliment. She did not return the gesture.

"I could kill you now. And them." And none in this camp will hear your bodies fall to the ground.

"You could try. Don't think I'll tell you what I know if I decide to let you live."

He did not seem to realize what she was capable of, and for now perhaps that was for the best.

"I don't need your help to find the Mountain," She answered simply.

"Maybe not, but you don't got the balls to do it alone, nor the height. And he's mine to kill, and I'll sure as shit find him faster than you do. But if you let these two go, I'll give you a slice. They live, you live, and I don't gotta kill you. Fair deal."

She wavered then, not because she thought he could kill her, but because she was not sure she wanted to kill him anymore. And if the red priest was right, Gendry was alive, what did killing them make her? She'd left Braavos exactly because she did not want to be a cold blooded killer, she only wanted to end those who deserved it. And though these men were fools, they were not bad men.

Turning to Thoros of Myr, she asked, "How do you know he is alive?"

His posture seemed to relax, as if he knew she was not going to attack, though she was not sure what had given him that impression.

"Because I must," He answered after a moment.

"What, you expect me to believe that? Some illusion you saw in the flame?"

He did not react to her words, though he spoke.

"She was here."

She was not sure why this surprised her, though of course it was bound to happen, considering they both served the same god. The Red Priestess was on her list, and though the mention of her had made Arya briefly contemplate the idea of killing her next, she knew she had to get to the Mountain before his brother did.

Still she could not help but ask, "And where'd she go?"

The other two, one whom she'd thought dead, had not moved from their positions, but she realized suddenly that she was not so sure she wanted to kill either of them. She had already removed Clegane from her list many moons ago, and Lord Beric, he was as much pawn as Gendry had been.

The one behind it all was not the priest neither, though he was the instrument, and as much as she still wanted to slit his throat, to end the reach of the power he served, if only a little, she knew she could not do it today.

As if he knew this too, he finally answered, "Home."

She decided not to press that further, and turned instead to the Hound.

"I get to kill him," She said simply, though it was her putting away her knife that seemed to put them all at ease.

"You'll do what I tell you, and maybe we both don't die bloody," He said, his voice tired yet dark as if daring her to contradict him.

By his words, it seemed as if he knew what his brother had become, some sort of undead creation, and how did one kill that which was already dead?

She did not argue, but she would not consent to that deal so she said nothing deciding she would make herself clear when they were alone.

She glanced momentarily at the lightning lord, his one eye gazing solemnly at her, then turned to Thoros of Myr again.

"I hope our paths do not cross again, for I cannot promise it will end as it has today."

Surprisingly, he smiled. "No, it will not."

She was not sure what he meant by that, perhaps he'd seen something in his little flames, maybe it was a threat of his own, in any case she said nothing. Instead she turned once more to the Hound.

"We are going South are we not?"

He had said nothing of what he'd heard of his brother, yet she knew it had to be that direction. Where would the beast go if not to Casterly Rock?

He nodded tightly, as if he was not glad she had surmised that much.

"I'll meet you outside of the village then."

She left then, to give him a moment alone with the men who were now apparently his brothers. If there was anything she thought she would never see, Sandor Clegane joining the ranks of the Brotherhood would top the list.

A short while later he finally joined her, and though it was not the stallion he'd once had, the animal was large, and dark, likely it was once a plow horse, for it seemed gentle and well tempered, quite unlike Stranger had been.

"Where was he seen?" She asked once they'd left Sallydance behind.

He grumbled, as if he did not want to tell her. "On the Rose road, past Bitterbridge."

"What's he doing in the Reach?"

"Enjoying the greenery," He answered harshly.

"What'dya think he's doing? Trying not to die most like. Bet that crazy bitch Cersei put him on a mission to kill her brother for betraying her."

It seemed a preposterous notion, but the Mountain was not a thinking man, not even before he'd died, and there was rhyme to his madness, what other reason could there be?

She decided to ignore both his words and his tone, deciding there was nothing to gain in addressing them.

"So, do we go South to the Reach or West to Casterly Rock to wait for him?"

He did not immediately answer her, though it did not seem as if he was considering the options, it seemed as if he hesitated in saying what he'd decided.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, worried even.

"South. And before he reaches Clegane Hall."

* * *

a/n: The Hound is one of my fave characters, but getting his voice right is hard as sh*t. Thanks for waiting during these past slow updates, and short chapters. Work is a little more settled so I hope to be updating more frequently.

I posted a poll about giving Tyrion a new nickname since I'm having a hard time figuring one out. That sort of thing is not my forte. I should have done the same with Jaime, but alas its too late. So I'd really appreciate your input.

Again, thanks.


	24. A Wax Seal

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

* * *

 _My back is full of insect wings, collectors poke and scalpels ring,  
The gospel here according to me, says I shouldn't be feeling any such thing_

 _Beneath I stretch out the wait slow, to keep safe my keepsakes  
Till I build up enough steam to run out of steam to float upstream to lands of forgotten kings_

 _To a church riddle I throw this, who belongs and who goes…  
I wrap such chaos sweet with bow  
And send it off on the backs of a hundred crows…_

 _from A Wax Seal by Billy Corgan_

 **Tyrion**

 **†**

It did not take long for her to decide to leave for Pyke and the North as there was little more left to settle than rebuilding the throne room and managing the daily affairs of the realm. Order had already been restored to the city with Queen Daenerys's arrival, and it had been maintained when his brother handed over his army, the city watch as well as the goldcloaks, and it had been kept by a man who's loyalty ran deeper than gold, try as he might to deny it.

When Jaime had tried to run away, it was Bronn who had sent word to him, who'd learned of Cersei's ploy and warned them of it, and whose presence had delayed Jaime enough for an altered version of his own plan to remain in play.

They owed him a great deal, and though Queen Daenerys did not object when he'd asked her to make him a lord, she'd done so, though only in title. His lands would be given when the seven kingdoms, though in actuality nine, were united at last. Tyrion understood her reasoning, she did not know yet where she'd need him once the realm was one. He accepted this, though he'd not been pleased at first.

In the wake of all this, the only situation that called for true maneuvering had been dealing with Cersei's loyal subjects, though there hadn't been many. They could not simply have them all killed after all, they had to show mercy as well. Though it was not easy deciding who was harmless enough to leave alive.

The most notable, Maester Qyburn, once hand of the Queen, was no Maester at all, only a man with their knowledge, twisted by a dark need to outwit the gods. Tyrion had questioned him for the Mountain's whereabouts, though he was fairly certain the man would not reveal his creation's destination.

He'd not even been tempted to torture Qyburn for the information, surely a creature of that size with a face like his would be seen, sooner or later. They had not even had him hanged for creating the beast, nor serving his sister, since it was clear he did it only to serve himself. They had it done for what he found out, what no one but himself, Varys and the Queen knew.

It had not taken long for Varys' little birds to return to him, nor to share their darkest secret. The moment the children left them, the Spider never more looked like he earned his namesake; he was near bursting with murderous anger, his cheeks damp by the tears that had managed to escape his eyes.

Tyrion had never liked Maester Pycelle, in fact he often wished the man a bloody death, but the children did not deserve his death on their hands, though they did not realize it yet, they would someday.

On the other hand, he had gone out of his way to ensure Balon Swann had been pardoned, though Queen Daenerys had yet to agree to allow him to remain part of her guard, she had given him leave to remain in the castle, under his own service. Tyrion had always liked the knight, he was noble and during his time as hand, the only one worthy of the kingsguard, aside from his own brother of course.

In the morning, the true test would start when she left for Casterly Rock, along with Yara and Theon Greyjoy. Missandei and Grey Worm would leave as well, and he was not surprised to find he'd miss their company. He was just getting them to loosen up after all. King's Landing would be under his care, luckily Varys would remain at his side, as would Lady Olenna though he would not call that luck exactly. and.

He closed the book he had long since given up on reading, as he wondered how his brother would receive them there was a knock at his door.

'Come in,' he bellowed loud enough for whomever it was since he did not feel like getting out of his bed.

When the door opened he half expected to see Podrick standing there, but it was his new squire, a boy little younger than his last named Daryn, though with reddish brown hair instead of black. He was the second youngest son of Lord Serret of Silverhill, and though he wasn't much like Podrick, Tyrion liked the boy.

"My lord," He said once he stood at the foot of the bed. "Queen Daenerys waits in your solar, she wishes to speak with you."

He groaned as he threw his covers from him, and stood, knowing nothing good would come from this late meeting. He put on his breeches and Daryn, helped with his boots as well as his cloak as the night was decidedly cool.

He dismissed his squire before walking alone to his solar. He had not wanted to move back into the tower of the Hand, and so he hadn't. Instead he returned to the rooms he had while he was married to Sansa, and while memories of his time there were not what one could call pleasant, they were at least not as bad as the ones the Tower invoked.

She was already seated with two glasses of wine set on the table before her.

"Your Grace," He said with a bow before he moved to the empty seat, raised his glass to her and took one long swallow.

She smiled and nodded in return, though she said nothing until after he was done.

"I know it is late, but there is something I'd like to discuss before I leave."

"Of course your Grace," He said accommodatingly.

"My time is your time," He added with a smirk.

Surprisingly, she did not address the jest.

"After I take Pyke, and sail North, I think it would be wise I marry the King in Winterfell, so his people may witness our union."

He wanted to tell her she was getting far ahead of herself, but he doubted the words would be appreciated. Though of course, the notion itself made complete sense.

"I agree, though you will need to perform a ceremony in King's Landing as well, so that the rest of the realm may witness it."

She seemed to have thought of this already as she began to nod before he'd finished.

"Yes of course. Though I expect the great houses to attend my first as well. When the time comes you will inform Lady Olenna and send word to Ellaria that she and Obara must attend our wedding and swear fealty to King Jon. As for Pyke, I will accept Theon in Yara's stead, as she ought not to leave the Iron Islands yet."

She spoke as if Yara already ruled over the ironborn, but in truth, he had no reason to doubt that would come to pass. He did wonder if taking the younger Greyjoy to the North was the best course of action, and could not help voicing his concern.

"Not to be impertinent, my Queen, but is it wise to take Theon to Winterfell? He did burn it down after all," He asked delicately.

She sipped from her glass of wine before answering.

"There must be peace between the ironborn and the North. Theon's presence, will be the first of many steps I will take to unite the kingdoms."

She drank again, and hesitated a moment before she spoke.

"My marriage will unite the South and North, but I must ensure a lasting peace."

He nodded agreeing with her, but it seemed as if she meant to say more, so he said nothing.

"Jon is King in the North, but Lady Sansa is the true key to the Riverlands and the Vale. I must bind her to me as well. As I have no male siblings nor relatives, I must wed her to the lord of one of the kingdoms sworn to me."

She paused, her gaze heavy on him, and he understood then, who she meant.

"I was imposed on Sansa Stark once your Grace, and she fled from me, I do not expect her to wed me a second time," He countered.

She smirked then, and by her amusement it was clear she was not referring to him.

"You are Hand of the Queen, and your place is here in the capital. Jon will be king, and he will be represent the North in King's Landing. No, Lady Sansa will marry the only male Lord I have to offer."

Surprise hit his face as he understood who she meant, "Your Grace, surely you cannot mean my brother."

"You will ride for Casterly Rock once I have sent word, and you will convince Ser Jaime to do this. Then he will come to Winterfell, swear fealty to Jon, along with Lord Bronn, and attend our wedding. Then Lannister will wed Stark, and the war your father, sister and nephew started, will finally be at an end."

She did not address his words directly, but he realized in that moment, she had been planning this union for some time.

He understood now why she'd asked him to remain in King's Landing when they spoke of her plans to take the Iron Islands, why she did not need him to go North even though there was no one better to broker such an alliance as him, who knew them both.

She had known even then, that she would need him to convince Jaime in this proposal, because they were brothers and he was the only one who could, or perhaps she thought it would be easier for Jaime to accept if he knew Tyrion gave his consent.

He was glad to be spared the trip to Pyke, but this new task was hardly an improvement. Though he pitied Sansa for it seemed she could not escape his family, he did not object. She had never truly been his wife after all, nor had he truly loved her, though he could not avoid feeling bitter when he realized it was likely she would not mind having to share her bed with Jaime as much as she had with him.

With a sigh he finally nodded, and forced himself to dispel the notion from his mind. It was then that he remembered the real obstacle to this union.

"You realize your Grace, King Jon will not agree to this."

"He will come to understand the necessity of their union," She replied simply, though forcefully enough that Tyrion did not question her.

 **†**

After she left, the city remained in a calm lull, and he was surprised to find out from Varys and his little birds, that the smallfolk no longer called him the Imp, halfman nor demon monkey. They simply called him the Dragon's Hand. He was a little disappointed the nickname was rather poorly thought up, and lacked cleverness. He did not say as much of course, as he did not want to seem ungrateful, even just to Lord Varys.

"Turns out you're a liberator no matter who you are if the last ruler was a murderous cu-".

"Lord Tyrion please," His friend interrupted him.

"There is no need for vulgarity. Your Queen sister is dead. Let us speak no more of it."

He sighed, for once feeling perhaps he'd almost gone a tad too far.

"Any other news?" He asked, giving the man what he'd wanted.

"As a matter of fact there is, it seems the Mountain has been sighted in the Reach, and he does not travel alone."

This managed to surprise him, though it explained a great deal. As deadly as Ser Gregor was, he could not believe he'd run to save his own skin, but he also could not believe there was no purpose to his journey. This was the work of his sister, though she was long dead, she still had her hand in the game.

"Who is his companion?" He asked, standing from his seat in his solar, to stretch his legs and serve himself his first cup of wine for the day. It was just after his morning meal, and as usual Lord Varys came with his whispers. Soon they would depart to the throne room where he would oversee construction as well as see petitioners until midday.

"A woman," He answered simply.

The answer was unexpectedly vague and so he could not help but ask, "A woman? Is that all your little birds told you?"

He did not react to the slight, only answered, "Not only is she tall, and dresses like a man, she wears a heavy cloak and hood, it was not easy to discern as much. It would seem she is leading them, as they have not left a trail of bodies in their wake, and were spotted only twice."

"This is the work of my dead sister, I know it."

He was not sure what Cersei had hoped to accomplish sending the Mountain on this secret mission and yet, he was curious. Try as did, he could not conceive what it could be, and while he felt concern, he was not truly worried. What great matter could Ser Gregor command when he was no man, only a monster? There was the woman of course, though he was fairly certain she was more prisoner than plotter.

"I'm afraid you are right, my Lord. What will you do about it?"

He considered it for a moment before he came to an answer that satisfied him for the moment.

"For now, let's just keep our eyes on him shall we? See what he's up to. He is not out for blood it would seem, and for the moment, in the Reach he is out of harm's way, so to speak."

Varys smiled before he spoke, "Very well, my Lord."

It was in that moment, that there was a knock at the door.

"It would seem it is time to head to the throne room," He said then, as he served himself another cup of wine. He took a sip of it before telling whomever it was, likely his squire Daryn, to enter. It was him, as expected, though the boy did not speak only shut the door and moved further into the room.

He bowed to Lord Varys, before moving closer to them and raised his arm, holding a small scroll in his hand.

"A raven just arrived for you my Lord," He said before stepping close enough to hand it over.

He did not need to see the seal of red wax, nor the three headed dragon ingrained in it, to know who it was from. It had arrived much sooner than he'd expected, and since he thought he'd have more time, he had put the matter out of his mind. Now as he opened the letter and read the brief message inside, he was glad for the time he would have on his journey, in which to think.

"The time has come it would seem. Prepare our things Daryn, we will leave in the morning."

"Where to?" Lord Varys said then.

Tyrion was surprised he did not seem to have figured out Queen Daenerys' secret plan. He realized then, that this was perhaps the only time in the many years that they've known each other, that he actually knew something the Spider did not.

After he took another sip of his wine, with a heavy smile he finally answered.

"Casterly Rock."

* * *

a/n: So remember that time I skipped Tyrion's chapter? Well turns out, that wasn't the best idea. So it's here, reworked because of said mistake. Sorry bout that. But I promise, Jon is next!

Shameless plug: check out my blog, fansfieldpark on tumblr. I post mostly fandom stuff, including GOT, TWD, BTVS, SPN, and my own edits. THNKS.

Again, thanks for reading, and please review. They give me life.


	25. The Winter's Wind

Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

Not sure how I feel about this (i'm still trying to find Jon's voice) but it's been a month, so here it is. Thanks for reading.

* * *

 _'O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,  
_ _and the black elm tops, 'mong the freezing stars...  
_ _whose only book has been the light of supreme darkness which thou feddest on night after night...  
_ _And yet my song comes native with the warmth... and he's awake, who thinks himself asleep.'_

 _from O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind by John Keats_

 **Jon**

❄️

It was on the fourth day during the morning meal in the great hall, that she asked him to tell her what he had held back that earlier evening.

"I am well enough to hear what you have to say," She assured him.

He sighed unsure how to tell her of the Night King, but nodded in agreement none-the-less.

"Later, in the afternoon, would be better I think. I have matters I must attend to as I'm sure you do as well."

It had not taken him long to realize she often attempted to maintain control in their conversations, and for the most part, it did not bother him. He was familiar after all, with the way nobles spoke, and though he was one of them, it was only in title. On this occasion he was not exactly pleased with her words, though it was the most sensible plan, so he said nothing to contradict her, and only nodded again. He was more preoccupied with how he would explain what he knew, than to best her in her game of words.

They did not say much else after that, only departed each other with a simple 'Your Grace', and she left the Hall and he moved to the smaller room in the rear while the tables were cleared and moved, so that he could receive petitioners and attend to matters required of him.

She arrived some time later, wearing both cloak and gloves, and he wondered where she had gone, and how she'd arrived precisely when the Hall was clear once more, and he had only begun to consider what he would say. So when she opened her mouth to speak, likely to propose where they ought to have their conversation, he did not let her.

"Would you care to accompany me for a walk through the Godswood your Grace? I am in need of fresh air."

Surprisingly, she accepted with a simple nod of agreement, and took his arm when he reached her side. She ordered her guard to remain behind, and so they left the Great Hall alone.

They walked mostly in silence, though he had the good sense to ask her how her day had been, to which she replied, "Eventful, after I attended some matters I visited Wintertown, and I must say I was treated very kindly. Then I visited the Wolfswood. It was… quiet."

He half smiled, recalling that this was her first winter, her first experience of what it truly meant.

"Winter is come. Most animals have gone south, or live deep within the woods, where there is some warmth still."

She nodded, but said nothing.

Thankfully the courtyard was mostly bare, though there were still eyes upon them, so he let the silence continue. When they entered the godswood, they were genuinely alone and he remembered the true issue that led them there, but it was her who mentioned it first.

"So King Jon, this great matter, has it anything to do with your garrisoning of the castles on the Wall?"

He was not surprised she knew, not with the one they called 'the Spider' at her service. It was possible she knew too what he feared, considering he had not kept his knowledge of it secret.

"It does," He answered evenly. "So your Grace, I can assume you know what's coming for us all then?"

She looked over to him, her gaze as expected, hard and unyielding.

"I have heard of the ones your people call Wights, and Whitewalkers. As the mother of three dragons I have no right to disbelieve it. While my army is vast and the men true fighters, they are from the East, where it is hot. If I give them to your fight, many will perish from the cold alone, and I cannot endanger their lives without understanding what it is for. This is not their home, I cannot ask them to die for it."

He understood her reasoning, yet he felt his shoulders sag as he realized that she did not truly grasp what was at stake, and that she made no mention of including her dragons in said fight. He looked around for a moment, noticing they were nearing the Heart Tree, before he spoke.

"It is not only the North they will protect, if we do not stop them here, all of Westeros will be lost. The long night is coming, and the Night King with it."

For once, she did not speak and he did not waste the opportunity.

"He is no man though he once was, and he does not only command the dead."

He paused a moment, and surprisingly she did not fill the silence. When they reached the tree, he stopped and released his hold on her.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit for this Queen Daenerys, as it is no easy matter."

Smiling forcefully she answered, "I think I'll stand, thank you King Jon."

He said nothing to this, only began at the beginning.

"Shortly after I joined the Night's Watch I swore my vows in front of a Heart Tree much like this one, only it was beyond the Wall. It was the first time I'd ever crossed it, and that night, the first time I came face to face with a wight."

He told her then, everything that had happened since, in regards to the Others. He left out Ygritte, and the names of all those he'd lost. He avoided details such as Ser Allister and the arrow he'd struck through Mance's heart. He stuck to the facts as best he could, and stopped before he reached the night he'd been betrayed and murdered.

She stood still, intent on his words, and did not interrupt him. It was not until he was finally done that she spoke.

"Will the Wall not keep them back?"

Relieved when he realized by her expression that the question was genuine, and without derision.

"For a time, yes I believe so," he answered.

The implication was clear, it would not hold forever, and he saw in her eyes that she understood. She did not respond to his words only took his arm and said, "Shall we head back?"

He nodded, and with one last look at the Heart Tree, he resumed step once more. He had said his share of words, and the mention of past memories stirred old wounds and he found he could not say more. Luckily, she seemed deep in thought and did not seem to notice. Their walk though silent, with only the sound of the breeze ruffling the trees and the snow stirring at their feet as they walked, was not uncomfortable and without tension.

It was when they reached the gate, and the quiet was replaced by the din of the people in the yard beyond them, that she spoke again.

"I'd like to continue this conversation later, if you will agree King Jon. At the moment, I must admit I am much too chilled to think of much else than the fire in my hearth."

He looked over to her, smiled lightly, and nodded, "Of course."

The easy silence between them resumed, and he walked her to her chambers, then made way to his own, letting her know he would be in his solar when she wished to resume their discussion. He had not doubted that she was cold, only he was sure that was not the true reason behind the interruption. She needed time to think, and truthfully he did as well.

Four days had past and he'd told her everything yet she did not seem perturbed, and had not pledged man nor beast. Their agreement hung unspoken between them, and he found himself wondering how long it would take to set things in motion, and how long after that to finally bind their kingdoms. This seemingly tenuous peace could not last much longer, the days grew shorter already.

He used the time to ponder another way to convince her, some sort of proof, but there was nothing but his word, save for taking her beyond the wall so she could see them with her own two eyes. He shook his head apprehensively knowing that was out of the question before he took a sip from his flagon of ale.

It was at this that there was a brief knock at the door before it opened, his steward Rolan entered, surely to deliver his message that Queen Daenerys was ready to see him.

"Let her pass," Jon said preemptively.

The man paused for a moment, suddenly stiff, before he answered, "Begging your pardon your Grace, but the Queen requests your presence. She wishes you to meet her near the North Gate, by the Broken Tower."

He nearly chuckled when he heard she wanted to meet him out in the cold once more, but when he rose from his seat and finally looked out the window, he saw that the sun had already descended and it was nearing time for the evening meal. He realized then that he'd been lost in thought much longer than he supposed. He took one last gulp of his ale and instructed Rolan to make sure supper was served regardless of his presence, though he was fairly certain most if not all would wait until they arrived before touching any of it. He hoped this meeting would not take long for their sakes.

He took the long path that lead from South to North, the night dark as few stars shone in the night, and the moon was no more than a sliver. With the hall likely already near full, it was quiet, and only the few torches that lit his way and the men on watch guarding the castle stirred the eerie silence that surrounded him.

The tower came into view before she did though not for long. Her silver golden hair cascaded down her back, shining like a beacon in the dark night as she leaned forward, resting her arms against the ledge, her gaze turned to the sky though there was little to see.

Considering he was none too pleased in this delay, he was much more firm than his usual self.

"What is it you wish to speak of your Grace?"

She finally looked away and turned to him, seeming to have already noticed his presence for she hardly reacted to his voice when he spoke.

"Do not worry King Jon, this will not take long."

She did not move from her spot, so he stepped closer. He did not speak, only waited for her to resume.

"I have considered your words, and your cause, and I am prepared to accept your terms, I only ask that you hear mine."

He nodded and did not speak, so she could continue.

"My dragons," She said then, seeming to know what he was thinking of.

"I brought them into this world. They are my children. They are the only—" She hesitated for the slightest of moments before continuing, "Family I have left."

She turned away from him, gazing upwards once more, at the vast darkness ahead of her. His eyes followed hers for a moment, though again there was little to see but dark clouds that blocked out the stars and the dim glow from the ones that managed to remain in view.

After a few moments she spoke, "Before I consent to risking them in this war, there are a few matters we will need to deal with, some of which will take longer than a day to address. Tonight, I need only know what he thinks of you."

At this, there was a low rumble above him, turning he saw small stones and bits of the broken tower tumbling to the ground below them. Though her words and the crash of his landing signalled his appearance, when Jon finally laid his eyes on the beast towering over him, he could not help the deep intake of air. He held it in his throat for fear the sound of it might bring its attention to him. For the moment, it gazed at Queen Daenerys almost lovingly, and Jon noticed the red streaks laced throughout its scales, and the large blacks wings flapping gently to help keep it balanced on the crumbling roof of the Broken tower.

"This is Drogon," She said then, and Jon turned his gaze to her once more. There was a triumphant smile on her face. "My eldest."

When she looked up at him, she spoke again though the only word Jon understood was his own name and he was certain she was not addressing him. He hesitated before glancing up once more, knowing he'd find its gaze upon him. He was not disappointed, though he was surprised that when he looked into its eyes, he was not exactly afraid, and its expression was not entirely menacing, though he was sure somehow that it did not seem particularly fond of him either.

Drogon leaned in closer for a moment, gazing at him with hard eyes and Jon, unable to avoid it, in shock finally let out the breath he'd been holding. At that, the dragon snorted and turned away from him, suddenly disinterested. He looked over to Queen Daenerys once more, grumbled at her before he pushed off the tower, and rose back into the sky, disappearing into the black clouds above them.

Feeling movement return to his limbs, he stepped backwards, and drew another breath, this time releasing it steadily, to calm his fast beating heart. He looked up once more to make sure it was not coming back.

"That went well," She said then, looking over to him once more, suddenly serious.

Unsure how she'd come to such a conclusion, he could not help himself, "Well? It would be quite a stretch to say he liked me."

"Yes, King Jon," She agreed, "But he did not _dislike_ you. And that is something indeed."

She pushed off the ledge and turned to him fully.

"Announce our betrothal and I will pledge my men to your wall and war, though once we are married, it will be _our_ cause to command."

This did not surprise him, he'd quickly deduced that though she might give him use of her army, she would not hand over complete control of it. He nodded, agreeing to this stipulation, but he had to be sure of one thing first.

"And your dragons?" He asked then. "Will you vow at least, to commit them to our cause, should the time come?"

"I will," She answered simply.

He did not reply, unsure how to proceed in her easy acceptance. He wondered briefly what else she needed to know, until she broke the silence at least.

"So are we agreed then?"

He was not sure how many more conditions she had, nor that he could fulfill any of them, but he was not bothered when she left it where she had. He'd encountered many great beasts in his short life, from direwolves to mammoths and giants, and yet, nothing compared to the red and black dragon, the promise of danger clear in the span of its wings and size of its mouth, not to mention the spark of intelligence in its eyes. Jon knew now more than ever, he would need all three if they were to win.

"We are," He finally responded.

With a satisfied smile she took his arm, "Shall we head to the Great Hall?"

As he'd expected, it was near full when they entered, the room falling to a sudden hush as they took their seats on the dais.

Ghost was at his usual spot next to him and seemed unperturbed by their lateness as he was chewing heartedly on a large bone stripped already of its meat. Jon might have confused him with a dog if not for the fact that he was as large as a bear, and his mouth, and fangs, were nearly twice the size of those of a hound. Seeing him, Jon felt better knowing that though Ghost was no great dragon, he was a formidable beast in his own right.

"Will you or should I?" She whispered into his ear, interrupting his thoughts.

At her words, he was suddenly hit with the realization that he'd not exactly been referring to Ghost after all.

"I will," He answered firmly, reaching for his flagon before he stood.

The hall settled nearly at once, though he took a moment to choose his words.

"My father always said that in the winter we must protect ourselves. Look after one another." He began.

There were many nods of agreement mostly from Northerners who'd likely heard his father say this for himself, or because they knew it to be true. The rest did not move, but their attention remained rapt on him.

He continued, "Now it is truly winter, and we know what is coming. We are in a dangerous time, and we cannot fight a war amongst ourselves."

There were hushed mumbles of assent throughout the tables, and he briefly wondered how long it would last before he spoke again.

"Queen Daenerys and I—" He paused, caught by the sudden look of understanding dawning on the faces before him.

"Have agreed to an alliance," He finally finished. When he realized he'd not been entirely clear he added lamely, "We will wed."

The mumbles disappeared, and a harsh silence took over.

At this she stood, raising her cup of wine in the air. Suddenly, he felt her free hand grasp his right, the coolness of her palm in complete polarity to the heat of his own. He fidgeted for a moment, knowing she would soon notice the rough terrain of his burned skin, feeling embarrassed by it though he was not sure why.

"We will unite our kingdoms. Westeros has bled enough. Lord Eddard was right, it is time we look after one another, and fight our enemy… _together_."

She drank from her glass, and he followed suit, their fingers linking as their movements threatened their grasp. He tried to maintain calm as he watched the faces around him. Another moment passed before the silence finally broke.

"Here here!" Shouted the first voice, familiar in its low rumble.

A string of knocks filled the air, flagons of ale being tapped against the table before being lifted to mouths for hearty gulps.

"To King Jon and Queen Daenerys!" Came another, followed by the sound of more taps, and glasses being refilled.

He turned to her, grinning in relief, forgetting for a moment all the other problems that weighed on his shoulders. She returned the gesture looking relieved as well, as if she too shared his fear that they would not approve the union.

It was not until they took their seat once more that she finally let go of his hand, grazing his palm as if she meant to inquire what had happened though she made no obvious reaction. She kept her eyes on him as he prepared to explain when the first serving girl arrived with a plate of honeyed ham.

"What happened?" She asked when they'd finally been served and the people in the hall distracted by their own meal, and the celebrations of the king and queen's engagement.

He looked at his palm a moment before he finally answered.

"It happened that first night in Castle Black, after I'd sworn my vows. I had no weapon and he would not die. When Lord Mormont appeared, I took his lamp, and flung it at the wight, knowing the fire would destroy it."

"With no thought to what would happen to your hand I presume," She scolded, though her tone was playful.

"Better my hand than my life," He answered amicably, despite their present topic of conversation.

"I'm glad it was neither," She said seriously, before looking away, returning her attention to the plate in front of her.

❄️

In the morning, as he readied himself to break his fast in the Great Hall, Rolan came with a scroll in hand. The sigil imprinted in the wax was his own, that of House Stark in any case, and he knew there was but one person it could be.

He felt his respite at the realization vanish when his steward announced that the bird had come from the Eyrie. Rolan quickly excused himself, likely by the expression on his face, but his squire did not seem to have noticed as he continued lacing his boots. Jon opened the scroll shortly after, sighing in relief as he read the soft loopy writing of his sister Sansa, his fears assuaged as he read her words.

 _Dear Brother,_

 _I am sure it must come as a shock to hear I am in the Eyrie and not Riverrun, but fear not, for all is well. My apologies, had it not been necessary, I would have informed you sooner._

 _Littlefinger is dead. As is Lady Brienne, who slew him. I felt it my duty, along with Ser Davos and some of my Uncle's men, to travel to the Vale to secure my cousin's fealty before news of his death traveled._

 _Lord Royce, still loyal to House Stark, now holds the Eyrie, as Protector of the Vale until Robin Arryn comes of age._

 _By the time you should receive this, Ser Davos and I will be on our return to the North. We shall speak soon, I promise._

 _Your sister, Lady Sansa of House Stark_

He knew there was much she'd left out, but felt confident she'd tell him everything when they returned. He felt a pang of grief for Lady Brienne, knowing though it had not been said, that she had died to save Sansa's life. In that, there was also remorse, though he knew of the vow she'd sworn to Lady Catelyn, now fulfilled, it was his job to protect Sansa, not hers. He could not help but feel as though he'd failed them both in not dealing with Littlefinger himself.

With a sigh, he let the scroll roll shut, knowing there was nothing he could do about it now but make sure she had not died in vain. His squire had finished with his boots and stood waiting, as he'd taken to not wearing his cloak for the morning meal considering the kitchen continued to make sure the hearths burned hot for the southern Queen.

In the Great Hall he told Queen Daenerys of his sister's impending arrival, and it seemed the news was well received.

"I am glad to hear it, your Grace," She said, smiling.

"I look forward to meeting her. I have heard much about her, she must be a strong woman, to have survived both the Mad Queen and her son, not to mention the Bol—"

"She is indeed," He interrupted, not wanting to think of the Bolton's and all they'd done to his family, nor of what Sansa had done because of it.

"Though it is still hard at times to remember she is no longer a little girl," He added cordially, forcing the thoughts away.

She smiled in return, though there was something forlorn in her eyes as she spoke, "For most brothers that is the case."

She sighed then, letting go of whatever it was that had sullen her mood. Suddenly, she smirked devilishly at him.

"Speaking of brothers, I thought you'd like to meet Drogon's brother Rhaegal, named after my own."

* * *

a/n: I know this was heavily lacking on fluff and stuff, but they'll get there... eventually. I promise.

I wanna thank everyone for your input, whether that be with reviews or follows. It really makes my day and I appreciate it, truly.


	26. Somewhere I Have Never Travelled

So I wanted to post this before the new season started, but I went away and I couldn't. In fact, I wanted to finish this part of my series before it did, but that didn't happen obv, but I'm still gonna stick to my original draft despite what happens on the show. Though (SPOILER) I wish I'd though of what Arya did with the rest of the Frey's. Oh well, c'est la vie.

Any who, on to my now Alternate Reality. Hope you like as much as I did writing this.

* * *

 _somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience,  
_ _your eyes have their silence:in your most frail gestures are things which enclose me…  
_ _your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers…_

 _or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,  
_ _as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;  
_ _nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility…_

 _(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;  
_ _only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)._

 _from Somewhere I Have Never Travelled by E.E. Cummings_

 **Daenerys**

 **æ**

That night after King Jon had announced their engagement, once she was alone in her room with only her thoughts, she wondered if she'd made the right decision in waiting to tell him what she intended of his sister. In the short time she'd come to know him, it had become clear her proposal would not be easily met, nor won. Though her reasons were many, she was sure none would convince him in agreeing to marry his sister to another Lannister.

When he had told her of the Night King, she'd known immediately it was the leverage she needed, yet when the moment came, after he'd met Drogon, she hesitated to use it. She thought perhaps with time, and the proper amount of hinting and prodding she might get him to see the sense in her plan, and agree. Now however it felt deceitful to have omitted her demand, considering he would have little choice but to accept now that their union was declared.

By morning she'd nearly decided to come clean, that is until he mentioned that his sister would soon return, and it suddenly occurred to her that she might be more successful convincing him if Lady Sansa was present. Though it was not common knowledge yet, Daenerys knew of Lord Baelish's death and was certain she had to be a clever woman. Surely _she_ would understand her intentions, and with her approval, convince King Jon to see it as well.

For now, she need ignore that persistent nagging only a little while. Lady Sansa would arrive soon enough.

Three days passed before Drogon's presence roused her from her slumber, and she knew he'd arrive soon. She'd not been sure he'd understood when she'd asked him in Valyrian that night, yet it seemed as if he had for though she had no such connection with Rhaegal, he was still her child, and she was sure she felt him as well.

She woke Missandei who slept in the adjoining room first, and then told the guard at her door to fetch his steward. She knew the hour was late but it could not be helped.

It would be far too cold for a gown, so she wore leather breeches and a fitted tunic made of soft wool, under her heavy cloak instead.

"What is the matter, your Grace?" Missandei finally asked as she helped her dress.

She wanted to tell her that everything was alright, but she was suddenly aware that was not the truth.

She was nervous, she realized. Her relationship with Rhaegal and Viserion was not entirely healed, and Drogon had been and still was instrumental in repairing the damage that she'd done. Though she was sure no harm would come to King Jon, considering Drogon, although begrudgingly, had accepted him, Rhaegal did not always obey her command.

"Rhaegal," She answered simply, as if that one word explained everything.

"You fear for the King's safety, your Grace?" She asked softly.

Somehow, Missandei understood. Daenerys nodded once, feeling exposed by the simple gesture, though she was not bothered by it, as she often confided in her friend.

"He will accept him your Grace, as Drogon does. Rhaegal and Viserion follow him in everything. Surely, this will be no different."

In the end, Missandei had been both right and wrong. Rhaegal had accepted Jon, but his reception had been nothing like Drogon's.

King Jon met her on the walkway surrounding the castle. She apologized for the lateness but he did not seem bothered by it nor tired either. He was anxious she knew, but hid it well. They took the path together, reaching the Broken Tower while the darkness was still thick.

They had not spoke much in the past three days, as the castle bustled with arrivals, smallfolk come to congratulate them, some with small offerings for their future. This lack of communication only compounded her festering guilt, so she decided she would give him something in return for her omission, a wedding gift of sorts. They reached the Broken Tower then, and as she wondered if this was the proper moment to bestow it, King Jon spoke.

"Will I meet—" He stopped, as he did not know his name.

"Viserion," She finished, answering his unspoken question.

She hesitated for a moment, but decided on the truth, "Someday, but for now, he remains in King's Landing."

Wanting to protect them in this land that still felt foreign to her, she had thought to keep all three at her side, only when the time came, and both Drogon and Rhaegal took to the air, Viserion would not fly. He would not leave King's Landing.

' _Keep him safe_ ,' she'd asked Tyrion, smiling sadly as she realized that in some small way, her brother was finally home.

Of course, he'd promised he would.

"So Drogon and Rhaegal, they've remained by your side all this time? " King Jon asked then.

She nodded, feeling no need to lie now.

"First in the Westerlands and then the Iron Islands. I' kept their presence a secret, as much as I could of course."

"And so you still have, your Grace. It seems no one saw your Drogon that night, but us."

She looked up at the sky after he spoke, the dark less black than it had seemed only moments before. She was relieved in that, she had gone to extreme lengths to ensure he'd not be seen, including sending his two closest guards on the wall away on a foolish errand. The orders had come from her own lips, to ensure they could do nothing but obey. This time she'd not had the chance, and she doubted she would be able to maintain their concealment for much longer if they did not arrive soon.

She turned to him, deciding she would not let this moment alone go to waste after all.

"I have written to Lord Tyrion of our engagement—"

"Lord Tyrion," He interrupted, a smile forming on his face.

"I had forgotten, in your arrival—" The grin vanished as his voice trailed off, as if he suddenly realized he was about to reveal too much.

After a moment, he continued, his expression composed once more, "He is well I hope?"

"As good as can be expected, ruling a freed city, though I imagine he is quite in his element."

His lips went up once more as he replied, "Surely. A fair replacement for yourself. I remember him to be a smart man, and honourable, despite—"

"Despite his Lannister blood, yes," She finished for him, though she both expected and understood his resentment, his family _had_ suffered greatly by their hand, but she could not help feeling bothered by the mention.

"Though he is not the only one of course."

She hoped the implication was clear, and waited to see if he would dare to contradict her. By his expression, she could see her words had only managed to try his patience.

"I meant to say, despite his devil-may-care attitude, your Grace."

He took a deep sigh before he continued.

"But I will agree with you on both counts. Lady Brienne has told me of Ser Jaime's honour, and my sister might not be here today were it not for him, at least in part. Though it does not repair all that has happened, time, life and circumstance changes us all. For the sake of the realm, I am ready to make peace with house Lannister."

She did not have the chance to respond as Drogon descended in that moment, landing gently on the Broken Tower just as he had that night. This time however, he spared no glance to King Jon, and kept his gaze on her. She looked up searching for her other son, and found him quickly. In the ever lightening of the dark, his green scales glowed bright, almost like jewels, as he made his descent. When he landed with a hard thump inside the lichyard, she knew he would not go unseen any longer.

She looked over to Drogon then, deciding one dragon was enough.

"Vlaar," She said, her voice deep and commanding.

A low growl rumbled out of his throat, followed by a puff of smoke he aimed at King Jon, unintentionally she thought, but she could not be sure. Then he did as she asked, and barely disappeared out of sight.

"We must go down to him, and quickly," She looked over to him finally, keeping her expression calm.

Exhaling deeply he nodded, and extended his arm, "This way."

He lead her through a tower that reminded her of a drum, though it was much taller than it looked. Inside, it was in disarray and disused, so he let go of her arm and took her hand, helping her keep balance when the pass became too difficult to walk side by side.

As always, they walked in silence, though he would look over at her from time to time, twice a nervous grin fluttered his lips, before he looked away. They made their way down a set of winding steps that came to an end at a small door, though it hung half loose from its hinges. He let go of her hand to move it aside, and they stepped out into the yard.

It was mostly bare, though there were grave markers scattered about, some just piles of rock, others small tombstones with equally small inscriptions. Rhaegal took up near all the space, so it only took them a few steps to reach him.

She kept her eyes trained on her dragon, watchful but firm. He looked back at her, almost inquisitively, before finally turning to look at her companion.

They gazed at each other for a long moment, neither moving, and she began to feel as if they'd forgotten she was there. When suddenly Rhaegal bent his wings so his talons touched the ground, Jon did not react, only continued to stare at him.

And then, to her surprise, the dragon she'd named after the gentle brother she'd never known, lowered his head down, so his jaw nearly touched the ground by King Jon's feet. She was suddenly reminded of Drogon; he would take the same position when she intended to ride.

He looked over to her finally, and she could she see he was not sure how to react. She was not sure herself, for though she didn't believe it is what Rhaegal intended, one thing was clear.

"He does not dislike you," She said to him, unable to avoid the tone of surprise in her voice.

"Quite the opposite it seems."

King Jon turned to Rhaegal once more, but said nothing. After another long moment, Rhaegal rumbled softly, and lifted his head once more, finally gazing at her. He seemed ready to do what she asked of him, and as the sky was dark no more, she decided it was time he go. When she reached out to him, he drew his head down until her palm found the side of his face, and she felt his rough scales brush against her fingers. It had been so long since he had let her touch him and she could not help the broad smile that filled her face and heart.

"Vlaar," She said after a moment.

Rhaegal lingered for a moment longer before he finally raised his head and loosened his grip on the cold snowy ground. He looked to King Jon, who remained still at her side, as he rose into the sky.

 **æ**

He had offered to break their fast in his solar instead of the Great Hall, so they could further discuss their agreement. The fire burned bright in the hearth as they ate, though he drank ale while she had taken a cup of hot mulled wine. The first time it had been offered to her, she had been reluctant to try it. In the end she had liked it, the combination of heat and spice warmed her from the inside out.

"What did you wish to tell me regarding your letter to Lord Tyrion?" He asked once their food was served and both his steward and squire had left, though the boy remained in the adjoining room likely taking his own meal.

"I have not yet sent the raven, it did not seem right until we spoke, and you agreed."

Her words had taken him aback but he waited for her to continue. She did not keep him waiting long and went straight to the point.

"I have asked him to write to the noble of each Great House so they may attend our wedding. Lady Olenna of House Tyrell, Ellaria Sand and the heir of Dorne. As well as Lord Jaime, and—"

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, knowing the last name would be taken the hardest, "Theon Greyjoy."

He tensed nearly instantly, "Is it not Yara Greyjoy who rules the Iron Islands?"

His words sounded vaguely contemptuous, but she did not let it bother her. It was understandable after all.

"Only just, so she cannot leave yet. Surely you must understand that, King Jon."

She took a sip of her warm wine, as she waited for his response.

"I do," He answered simply. "It is lucky you do not share such worries."

She almost smirked, caught more by his gall than by the suggestion. It was the first he'd ever bantered back, and she was surprised to realize she wanted more.

"I've not left my kingdom," She answered almost playfully, hoping it sounded as ambiguous as it did in her head.

By his silent expression, it was obvious it did, though his reaction was not the effect she'd hoped for.

"Not until I came to the North, of course," She continued suddenly nonchalant, as if she had meant nothing by her earlier words.

She returned to her plate, trying to remain indifferent but from the corner of her eye she thought she saw him smile.

"I take it I am to invite Lord Edmure and Lord Robin to attend as well?"

She wondered if that meant that he agreed but she could not bring herself to ask. Instead she only answered, "I admit that is what I want, though I hope you do not object."

King Jon sighed then, and lowered his cup, "For them, no I do not."

It was clear who he meant, but she did not address it, at least not directly.

"It is also my intention they swear fealty to you, and make amends, or at least peace."

He exhaled deeply, as if this only made matters worse.

"And I am to ask the Lord of the Vale and the Riverlands to swear to you in return," He replied, and it was impossible not to note that his words were statement rather than question.

In an effort to defuse some of the tension he'd built from her requests, she decided it was the perfect moment to give him his 'present'.

She nodded, "And the Stormlands as well."

His brows furrowed, in obvious confusion,"The Baratheons are all gone."

She took one last bite before pushing her plate away, feeling pleasantly full. After a sip to wash it all down, she finally spoke.

"But the kingdom is not. A new lord is needed, and I am sure you will find me a suitable replacement. Consider it a wedding gift from bride to groom."

"You wish me to name the lord of the Stormlands?" He asked, his uncertainty quickly shifting to shock.

"We will be married Jon, our kingdoms must join as well, in as many ways as possible."

After she'd spoken, Daenerys realized she he had left out his title, and the informality of her words left a sour taste in her mouth. He nodded but remained silent, his expression faraway, as if he were lost in thought, and she knew he had not noticed.

"They need not be a Baratheon nor of high birth," She spoke, hoping to return his attention to the matter at hand. It seemed to have worked as his eyes found hers.

She continued, "I am not concerned as I am more than confident in your judgement, but I ask nonetheless that he, or she, is trustworthy and honourable, and deserving of the position."

It was after a long moment that he spoke, his tone resigned, "I will write to Lord Edmure and Lord Royce."

She had to be sure he'd agreed, but since he had not said Theon's name, she knew it would be best to avoid it herself.

"So we are agreed then, your Grace, on all counts?"

He sighed once more before answering sombrely, "Aye, we are."

 **æ**

By supper, word had spread of Rhaegal's visit like wildfire. She kept her head raised high when she made her way to the Great Hall and she felt gazes strong upon her, though no eyes made contact with hers. She was certain they waited with baited breath, to see if she would turn into a dragon herself.

King Jon stood when she entered the Hall, his dark eyes the first her own made contact with, holding his gaze until she was at his side.

As the meal began to be served, interest waned, though she knew by the hushed volume of their voices, their looks had merely turned into talk.

"Perhaps it is best this way," King Jon whispered at her ear.

She turned to him quickly enough that he was still close when she did, so that their faces were only inches apart. She gazed first at his mouth and then his eyes before he shifted back.

"How so?" She asked simply, a smile threatening at the corners of her mouth.

There was an audible gulp before he replied, "The next time Drogon or Rhaegal come to Winterfell, they will have had time to prepare themselves."

Then he smiled, "As much as one can prepare oneself for the arrival of a dragon, of course."

"Indeed," She answered, wondering when it would come to pass. Would she soon have need of them again?

"It has occurred to me Queen Daenerys," He spoke then.

"It is only right that I give you a gift as well, though I do not have a kingdom to bequeath you. I offer the Twins however, the castles guard an important pass in the Riverlands."

She tried hard not to sneer, "I am familiar with the Crossing."

Then carefully controlled her voice and added, "But I thank you King Jon, for the gesture."

It seemed she had been successful as he continued nonplussed, "I have but one request: that whomever you choose, marry one of the remaining Frey's, and find suitable living for the rest."

"Easily done."

She'd not expected this sudden bequeathal, but she knew already whom she would post there. It was exactly where she needed him, and what he'd been promised, wife and all.

After their meal, he took her arm and escorted her back to her chambers. With Missandei and two of her guards in tow, they did not speak much. She gazed at him many times catching his eye only when either spoke, trying to decipher who he was behind closed doors, this man she was soon to marry.

He was unlike any suitor she'd ever known. He was not bold nor impetuous like Drogo, nor was he deceitful and ambitious like Xaro Xhoan Doxos, and though gentle like Hizdahr Zo Loraq, there was strength and wisdom in King Jon. As for Daario Naharis, two men could not be more different, with no similarity between them save for how they made her feel, like one of her dragons, her blood burning, as if she too carried fire inside of her.

With Daario, it had been passion and lust, and the way he looked at her, as if she were the sun, beautiful and bright, but also powerful and dangerous. Now, with King Jon, there was fire, only of a different kind. He did not cower in her presence nor worship at her feet, they were on equal footing. As she felt the Targaryen in her fume in fury, she knew Daario had not been wrong.

She wanted him to surrender, not for control of the North, nor to appease her own ego. That moment in the Great Hall suddenly came to mind, when she felt his breath at her ear, and looked at his lips, and she knew what she actually wanted most of all.

She wanted to conquer _him_. Of that she was finally certain.

They reached her chambers then, and before he could extricate himself from her, she spoke.

"I think I would like to take a turn before I retire, perhaps I could walk you back to your chambers instead?"

He stiffened for the slightest of seconds, then glanced at her escort before he looked over to her. As expected, he only nodded.

"Missandei," She said then, turning to her, "Would you begin to prepare the bath for me please?"

She nodded and bowed to them both, though Daenerys was certain she knew her true intentions by the glimmer in her eye and the slight upturn of her lips.

After she was gone, she turned to her men, "Remain here, I need no guard as I am not leaving the castle. I will return soon."

They seemed reluctant to obey but bowed in acquiescence nonetheless.

"Shall we?" She said brightly, turning her eyes to him.

Again, he nodded.

They walked in silence at first, as he would not speak, and she though she knew some of his past from Lord Varys, she could only gauge the truth from his own lips. There was one thing she was desperately curious about, but knew she could never ask, not directly.

In the end, he spoke, "You were married once."

It was not a question, but she answered it as if it were, "Twice. Both arranged of course."

She did not need to tell him they had died, but she wondered if he'd ask how it had happened. She wanted to laugh, that she'd had the mind for discretion, yet he'd seen fit to ask her directly. As she meant to correct that error, he spoke again.

"Did you love them?"

She had meant to ask him of his own fated romance, yet the sudden memory of her Drogo momentarily distracted her, and she found herself answering instead.

"Once, with all my heart. A long time ago."

King Jon turned away after she spoke, not embarrassed by her words, but as if he understood them all too well. She gave him a moment, before she finally returned the favour.

"You and I share this in common, do we not King Jon?" She asked, trying to make her voice sound gentle.

He closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly heavy with guilt, before finding hers again.

"Once," He answered simply, looking forward.

As it so often seemed to happen, they walked in silence, King Jon likely trying to centre his presence of mind just as she was.

"I hope you do not mind me asking King Jon, what was she like, your wildling woman?" She asked curiously, the words popping out of her mouth almost of their own accord.

He smiled then, his expression bittersweet as he spoke, "Ygritte. She was exactly that, wild and free. Wilful and fierce, with a mind of her own."

She sounded like her Drogo, and felt for his loss. Considering it only fair, she spoke, "Drogo was much the same. I had never experienced such freedom, and safety, I am sure I would not be the same person if not for him."

"I cannot say the same as for safety, but the rest, perhaps the Wildlings and Dothraki are not so different after all."

"And not the savages they are often perceived to be," She replied, hoping he understood that like him, she did not believe such foolishness.

They reached his chambers then, thankfully no guards were posted as his door, so they remained alone.

"Thank you for the company, Queen Daenerys," He said then, looking down at her.

"It was my pleasure," She smirked coyly at him.

"Good night then your Grace," He spoke uneasily, as he dropped his arm letting her go, and bowed lightly before turning to the entrance of his room.

By his reaction, she knew that though she'd hardly set the mood, this was her moment. Before he could leave, she moved lightning speed to stand between him and the door. His hand held the knob, though he did not turn it open.

"Are you not curious Jon?" She asked gazing up at him, as she extended her arm, resting it over his, her fingertips light at his shoulder.

"Of what?" He tried to ask steadily.

He had not moved away, so she pulled him closer, and spoke softly, "Do you really wish our fist kiss to be at our wedding?"

Her other arm meant to find its way around his waist but his hand took hers instead and she could not help smirking at his attempt to resist her, but she locked her fingers through his, pulling his hand behind her back and pressed herself against him.

"No," He finally answered, his voice rough.

Then he let go of her hand and suddenly she felt his cool fingertips brush against her jaw as his other hand let go of the door and rested lightly at her waist, pulling her closer to him. He kissed her then, his lips soft against hers, before he pulled away.

Their eyes connected for a moment as he stilled, unsure if he ought to let go of her not. Not wanting that to be it, with her free hand she reached up to his other shoulder, hoping it was the invitation he needed. He dropped his arm until it too wound its way around her middle, and suddenly his mouth crushed against hers, this time his tongue entwining with hers.

Her fingers tangled at the curls near his neck, and she was certain she would never tire of the feeling of his soft lips pressed to hers. She could not be sure, considering the layers of fabric and armour between them, but she was near certain his body was reacting to hers, just as hers was to him.

After a few moments he finally pulled away, though he did not let her go.

"Perhaps we ought to leave something for the wedding day," He grinned softly.

She returned the gesture, and moved close to him.

"If you insist," She said before stealing another kiss.

* * *

a/n: Finally some fluff, am I right?! What did you guys think?


	27. The Good Man In Hell

Kind of a short one, sorry bout that.

* * *

 _If a good man were ever housed in Hell by needful error of the qualities,  
Perhaps to prove the rule or shame the devil, or speak the truth only a stranger sees,_

 _Would he, surrendering quick to obvious hate, fill half eternity with cries and tears,  
Or watch beside Hell's little wicket gate in patience for the first ten thousand years,_

 _Feeling the curse climb slowly to his throat that, uttered, dooms him to rescindless ill…_

 _from The Good Man In Hell by Edwin Muir_

 **Jaime**

ø

Many days had passed since his meeting at the Tooth, and his return from his unexpected tour of the Westerlands. Though he was not keeping track, not exactly, the days were long and he could not help note each one that passed as another in which she was gone, just like his children, and his father, and… Cersei.

He was grateful for once, of the peace and quiet his empty castle afforded him. Alone, he was free to grieve, and though his servants and guards often asked him if he was alright, they did not pry much.

By the time he received word that a caravan was heading his way, Lannister and Targaryen banners flapping in the wind together, he smiled for he knew it could be none other than his brother, hand of the Queen. He did not know why he came, but it did not matter. His castle would bustle once more, and his company would do Jaime some good, to remind him that he wasn't entirely alone in the world.

Tyrion arrived the next day, looking tired but rosy from drink, as he emerged from the carriage. As always, he was not alone, though his company was not whom Jaime had expected.

"Brother, Lord Bronn," He said, his tone surprised.

"I've yet to get my castle, but I appreciate the title," He shot a look at Tyrion, his brother cleverly pretended not to see.

"A little soon to leave the capital, is it not?" Jaime asked solemnly. He remained somber because he knew it could not last. His brother would return sooner or later. When the time came, he was sure he'd even miss Bronn's presence.

They stood before one another in the main entrance, and Jamie found himself momentarily glad that he still had kin.

"King's Landing is much less interesting than you'd think these days," The younger Lannister answered, seeming amused himself of this fact.

"The Lords are happy. The common people are happy. It seems Queen Daenerys is beloved by all."

He wanted to say, ' _that's because they all hated our sister_ ', but he didn't. His little brother seemed to sense this and resumed.

"Come brother! Let us go inside where we may wash up and have another glass of wine. We are clean out, and we have much to talk of."

"There's to be a wedding brother!" Tyrion exclaimed once they were alone in the solar adjoining his chambers. Bronn reclined in a large chaise before them, while he and his brother sat across from each other at a large table in the centre of the room.

He'd raised his cup to which he'd already added wine, and did not wait for Jaime nor Bronn to join him, though the latter did as he had already poured himself a cup. He did not say anything to this proclamation because he was not sure he wanted to know whose it would be. Nor had he bothered to serve himself wine either.

"You're not very much interested it seems, but I'll tell you anyway. Queen Daenerys will marry the King in the North."

Somehow, he was not surprised, and though he knew it was now time for his journey (and for Theon's as well), what he did not understand is why Tyrion had traveled all this way simply to tell him.

"When I return to King's Landing I will write to Dorne, the Reach and Pyke, and invite each lady, and lord, I suppose, for the sake of decency, to the wedding in the North. Of course, you're invited as well."

"I suspected as much," He didn't think Tyrion knew of his talk with the Queen, considering this slow roundabout. He turned suddenly to their silent companion, "As are you, _Lord_ Bronn."

After a pause, as Tyrion waited to secure the man's attention, he continued, "You will accompany my brother and swear fealty to King Jon, after you have done so, you will receive your castle and wife."

"It's about time," The former sellsword said as way of thanks, sipping from his cup once more.

"A Lannister always pays his debts," Tyrion replied, turning once more to his brother.

Jaime nodded in gratitude, as he'd once promised a castle and lordship to Ser Bronn, and though he hadn't secured it, at least the debt had been paid by a Lannister.

With his brother's following words, he knew the truth would finally come out.

"I don't mean to be rude Lord Bronn, but I need to speak with my brother alone. In your chambers, I've requested for you a little farewell to bachelorhood gift. Enjoy my friend."

He gulped down the rest of his wine before standing, "You shouldn't have, but seeing as how you already did, don't mind if I do. I was getting bored anyway."

He wiggled his brows at them, then left smiling, as if he knew he'd ended up with the better end of the deal.

"Surely you know I've not come to simply tell you this," His brother said after a long moment, addressing his unsaid thoughts.

"Of course," he answered, giving Tyrion a look as if to say, _why wouldn't I?_

"There is something Queen Daenerys has asked me to tell you—" He hesitated.

Jaime wanted to pressure him to speak already, only he could not. There was something in Tyrion's expression that kept him silent.

"There is no easy way to say it brother, so I will just come out with it."

 _I wish you would_. Another pause, this time longer.

"She wishes you to swear fealty to King Jon and—"Tyrion's expression was serious, and for the first in a long time, he looked uncomfortable. As if he did not know how to say what was on his mind.

"Marry Lady Sansa."

Jaime stilled with the force of his brother's words, but only for a moment, "Surely, you must be joking."

Such insanity, could not be the truth. When Tyrion did not laugh, the faint grin of his mouth faltered.

Tyrion spoke, to confirm what Jaime had clearly not thought of.

"But house Lannister and house Stark should come together, what greater symbol of the end of war than marriage between such houses? Casterly Rock is yours, Jon will remain in the North for some time yet, though eventually he will settle in the capital. Hopefully one of the other Starks out in the world will appear by then. It was once my duty to our house to marry Lady Sansa, but we were ill suited. Now it is yours, I should think you are much more her type."

"Would her brother and mine be that cruel to her? Sell her off to a Lannister just as our father once did?" He finally countered.

Tyrion sighed and reclined in his chair before continuing, "King Jon does not know of this plan, I admit. Wish that I could claim it as my own, but I cannot."

His brother looked over at him, a pitiful expression he was not accustomed to on his face.

"The Queen wishes to secure the safety of the seven kingdoms. The King has the North and she's given him choice in who will have dominion in the Stormlands, perhaps because his father and Robert Baratheon were friends, or as a wedding gift, in any case, he will choose a lord loyal to him."

"That is quite a gift indeed, considering he rules over most of her land as it is."

His brother smiled grimly before continuing, "Thanks to your would be wife, she will have her uncle in the Riverlands, and cousin in the Eyre. I'd call it a fair compensation."

He said nothing to that.

Tyrion took that as his cue and resumed, "King Jon has given her a gift in return, which brings us to Lord Bronn. He will marry a Frey, of his own choosing of course, and hold the Twins."

Jaime almost grinned, "I take it you intend to let Queen Daenerys break that little news?"

Tyrion did smirk then, "And in the presence of Lord Edmure's own Frey, I think he will take it much better do you not?"

He remembered then, of Roslin, Lord Tully's wife and Lady of Riverrun, and her surprising beauty.

"Indeed," He answered simply.

After another moment, his little brother returned to the topic at hand, the one he hoped to refute.

"He also has her cousin and Lord Royce in the Vale, though a suitable match will need to be made for the boy. The Queen has her trusted ally Yara in the Iron Islands. The Sand Snakes in Dorne, though scary, are fiercely loyal and it seems Daenerys will make one a Queensguard, and another will soon be on the small council. She's promised her first heir to house Tyrell, that should hold them for some time. They are currently trying to secure one of their own."

Feeling angry for the first in a long time, he nearly shouted, "Have I not done enough to prove my loyalty?"

Tyrion said nothing, only stood, and refilled his cup and poured one for his brother. Carrying them over, he handed one to Jaime, and sat beside him.

"It is not a question of loyalty Jaime. The Queen knows you are loyal, and a good man, otherwise she would not offer you her sister by marriage. She knows it was you who saved her. No, she offers you Sansa because she must. In truth, it is what's right for the realm. And we must all make sacrifices, so many have died in the name of this house or that, it must end."

All his ire faded as he replied, "Brienne saved her, not me."

He did not address the rest, hoping his brother would realize what that meant. He had not expected to give in easily, but he no longer had it in him, the energy to resist the strings that have pulled at him his entire life. It seemed as if he'd finally reached a point, where maybe there was no longer a reason to, after all he'd actually met Sansa and something told him that perhaps such an arrangement would not be so bad after all. Considering he had been on his own since Cersei died, at least now he wouldn't be alone.

In any case, Jaime knew he had little choice in the matter. Tyrion let out a breath and seeming to understand what his silence meant, did not address it either.

"Only by your doing. And I have you to thank for Podrick as well."

He was not convinced he'd saved either of them, but he didn't argue.

"What of what Lady Sansa wants? Do you think she wishes to marry another Lannister, even if it is the better looking one?"

His lips turned up and his brother returned the gesture, though there was more mirth in his grin than Jaime felt in his own.

"I suppose it will be your duty to make her forget who you are then. And for the good of you both, fall in love with her and make her fall for you. The realm will thank you for it, and the legacy our father tried so hard to protect will be worth it finally, with your proud, yet honourable children."

He did not reply to that, only finally sipped from the glass his brother had offered him.

Tyrion remained for another three days, before he finally departed, leaving Lord Bronn behind.

Soon they too, would leave the Rock, but they would go North instead.

* * *

a/n: Short chapter, kind of abrupt I know, but there isn't much more I need to say regarding this, considering I've been working this plot line since almost the beginning. And right now, I really wanna get back to the North. I wonder why (with that episode, it's hard to think of much else, haha).

Thanks as always for the love. Reviews are appreciated!


	28. Against Extremity

Sorry for the delay. Now that the season is over, hopefully i'll be able to go back to updating more frequently. This isn't quite a Dany/Jon chapter, but I hope you like. But we are back in the North anyway.

Thanks again for reading.

* * *

 _Let there be treaties, bridges… to be spanned, sustained:  
Extremity hates a given good or a good gained…  
The time's spoiled children threaten what they will do,  
And those they cannot shake by petulance, they'll bribe out of their wits by show.  
Against extremity, let there be such treaties as only time itself can ratify,  
A bond and test of sequential days, and like the full Moon slowly given to the night,  
A possession that is not to be possessed. _

_from Against Extremity by Charles Tomlinson_

 **Sansa**

 **§**

As she made her way North, she realized she had not done much more but travel since she first left Winterfell. Even her time in Riverrun felt long past and her visit short, though in truth it had not truly been either. Her trip to the Tooth felt like little more than a heartbeat, and she had only spent a week in the Vale, before writing to Jon and departing.

As she had hoped, Ser Davos had not yet arrived when she returned to Riverrun, so luckily there would be no need to explain her short visit to the Westerlands. As she waited for him, she prepared Littlefinger's coach, should his spies who thought him still alive have their eyes on her.

When he arrived he'd informed her of Queen Daenerys' impending visit to the North, and though she knew they would never make it, she wasted no time in telling him of her plans. He did not dislike them, and so they left Riverrun the next morning.

To avoid being seen, they did not stop at the Crossroads Inn, instead they rode late into the night, and Podrick found them a small inn on the High Road.

After Brienne, she had given him leave to go, should he want to. He'd landed in her service a second time in a strange twist of fate, but Cersei was long gone, and he was free, she did not think it kind to hold him to her knight's vow. After she had spoken, she knew she did not want him to leave, without the Lady of Tarth at her side, and her brother hundreds of miles away, she was alone once again, like she'd been before.

"I am no knight," He'd said, not quite confidently, "Nor a skilled fighter as Lady Brienne had been, but I would like to continue serving you my lady, in any way that I can."

"In her honour," He added awkwardly after a moment.

And with nothing but a gentle nod, and a 'Thank you, Podrick,' he stayed. She felt relieved though it was true, he was no warrior, but he was loyal and she trusted him, and she could not say that for many.

It was after their way up the High Road, once they reached the Bloody Gate, that she realized that Ser Davos, might be included on that list. It seems she had underestimated him; he was quick-witted and smart, and managed to get them to the Eyrie without so much as a second glance.

When she'd finally reached Robin, she told him the truth about his mother's death, that it had been Littlefinger who'd done it. He had not taken this news well, and had demanded to see the man, to hear the truth from him. When she told him he was dead, it was only thanks to Ser Davos, that her cousin finally listened to reason.

Lord Royce was made protector of the Vale the very same day, and though her cousin had much to learn still, she was relieved Littlefinger's last piece on the board was finished.

He was finally gone.

Having spent the night at castle Cerwyn, it was still morning by the time they reached Winterfell. As the castle came into view, she smiled, feeling glad to be home. Her brother Jon waited in the courtyard for them, Ghost at his side. She hugged him, feeling comforted by his embrace, as if she was finally safe with family. She wondered briefly, if she would ever put her arms around Arya or Bran again.

After, he turned to Ser Davos, his lips turning up as their eyes connected.

"Your Grace," the Onion Knight said with a grin, before he dipped his head in deference.

"Ser Davos."

Jon turned to her once more, "I'm sorry, for lady Brienne."

She wasn't sure she appreciated him bringing it up so soon, but she felt her defences slip for a moment before she reigned them in, and spoke in a small voice, "So am I."

She hoped he would say no more about the Lady of Tarth, she was not ready to speak of that, not now, in front of everyone.

He seemed to understand and turned to Ser Davos once more,"It is good to have you both back in the North."

"It is good to be back your Grace, despite the cold. I hear Winterfell has a new guest?"

who is too busy to does not seem to have the time to receive us. it would seem

His smile disappeared before he answered, "Queen Daenerys is attending to her own matters, you will meet her later, when she returns."

That sounded odd to her, where else could she have possibly gone in the North? She said nothing about it though, knowing Jon would tell her when the time was right.

"Is it true?" She asked suddenly.

She'd heard whispers on their journey here, of the Targaryen Queen, and the reason she was in the North, enough that she actually wondered if there was any truth to them.

"What?" Jon asked, with feign ignorance.

That in of itself was answer enough.

"It is, isn't it?"

He froze, clearly taken aback by her words.

Suddenly Ser Davos spoke, "Perhaps we ought to talk somewhere more private milady, we have tales of our own to share with the King."

Her brother agreed, his nod somber and grave as usual.

"Fine," She relented.

 **§**

"So is it true?" She asked impatiently, once they were settled in what used to be their father's solar, along with Ser Davos, who remained standing.

"What is it you want to know Sansa?" Her brother finally answered, sounding slightly irritated by her pushiness.

She smiled, not discouraged by his tone. It was obvious they all knew what she was referring to, but she finally said it aloud, "Are you to marry the Queen in the South?"

He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes before he answered, "I am."

She had already known, but the confirmation of it managed to shock her silent. She wasn't sure what could have possibly gotten into his mind that he gave in so easily. Of course, the dragon queen could have burnt him to a crisp just as she had Euron and his armies, so perhaps marriage was a lucky offer, considering. With that thought though, his motivations suddenly became very clear.

"And she has agreed to pledge her men to our war," She stated more than asked, as she did not wait for his answer. He seemed surprised she had picked it all up so quickly, but he did not seem to realize that though she was no fighter, this was her battle zone. One she understood all too well, and the importance in playing it right.

"What of her dragons?" She asked.

He frowned before answering, "We're still working that part out."

In her sudden lapse of silence, Ser Davos snatched at the opportunity to speak, clearly in an effort to derail her from further questions.

"Congratulations your Grace," He started, then smiled brightly before he continued, "You don't waste time, I see. Last I heard, you were awaiting her arrival and now she's about to be your wife."

She could not help grinning at the knight's jest, especially as Jon grumbled, "It was not exactly my idea."

This she had already assumed, the Targaryen Queen came to conquer of course, and as no battles raged, it was allies she wanted, and no better way to make alliances than with marriage.

"I accepted, for the good of our people," He said a moment later, sounding as if he was ready to drop the topic.

There was more she wanted to know, but for now she would press no further. Ser Davos took that as his queue, and pulled out two small scrolls from an inner pocket in his cloak, and handed them to Jon.

"Your Grace, these are from Lord Edmure, and Lord Royce."

Her brother looked at them for a moment before turning back to her, his expression unreadable.

"What happened in Riverrun?" He asked.

Suddenly the room seemed to bear down on her, as Ser Davos had not heard the complete story either.

She reached for her cup of mulled wine and took a sip, savouring the heat and spice in her mouth and then her throat as she swallowed, hoping it would give her the courage she needed to tell them the truth.

It seemed to have worked as her words came out in a rush.

"From the moment we arrived I knew My Uncle Edmure's loyalty was true. In that trust, I saw an opportunity to end Littlefinger once and for all. He betrayed our father and he sold me to the Boltons, so I took it. Brienne paid for my foolishness and arrogance with her life."

The room grew quiet for a moment before Ser Davos interrupted the stillness.

"And ended the tyranny of perhaps the most dangerous man in all of Westeros, true- little comfort, but you _both_ saved many lives."

She did not argue this, only waited a moment before sharing all the other details; how Brienne had died and Lord Baelish's plans. Jon did not interrupt though she could tell he was angry and likely blamed himself for not being there.

"It was Littlefinger who killed my Aunt Lysa," She continued, to prevent him from dwelling on such thoughts.

She realized she'd been successful in distracting him when his expression turned solemn, and his anger dissipated, as she had never shared this bit of information with him. In fact, it was only one of many things she had not shared, and though she regretted that she was still unable to speak to him of them all, she knew he had his own secrets, and she did not begrudge him them, she only hoped he would do the same.

"I had to tell him before word spread, because I knew the extent of Littlefinger's hold on my cousin. Even with the truth, Robin took Lord Baelish's death rather hard. In the end, it was Ser Davos who made him see the truth of what that man truly was."

Jon turned to the Onion knight then, both surprised and impressed at her revelation.

His shoulders went up a little before he answered Jon's unspoken question.

"I'm good with children?"

Jon's expression softened, a smile tugging at his mouth before he turned to her once more.

Taking that as her queue to continue, she did.

"As for Lord Royce, he never had any great love for Littlefinger, in fact had always seen him for what he was. He has promised to do his best to train and help make Robin a better man. But I think it would be wise he spend some time away from the Eyrie. So he may see the world for what it truly is."

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"He will come North, and soon. As well as Lord Royce and your Uncle Edmure. I have sent word."

She immediately understood what this meant as well, "Has the Queen written to the lords and ladies in the South?"

She did not think his expression could harden any more than it had, but she was wrong it seemed.

"As well as Theon," He said after a moment, his voice deep and begrudging.

That explained it. She'd told him what had happened after all, how Theon had helped save her. Only, Jon was not as quick to forgive him for betraying Robb and taking Winterfell. He had not truly known Ramsey after all, and could not see Theon had long since served his sentence, ten times over. She could never try to make him see it either, if she did, he would only see her own pain more clearly.

"I will be glad to see him," She said, deciding not to hide how she felt.

She stood then, coming to the conclusion that this was the perfect moment to take her leave.

"I think I'll retire. I'd like to freshen up before I meet the Queen. My old chambers are ready for me I hope?"

With said Targaryen likely in her mother's chambers, Jon had probably taken the master, for appearances. She was relieved when he nodded, looking properly abashed. She smiled, hoping he understood she was not bothered by it. She turned her grin on Ser Davos before flashing it at her brother once more before she left.

 **§**

Sitting by the fire, she heard the knock at her door, and did not wait for her handmaiden to get it as she stood, and walked over to answer.

"Hello," She said in surprise, not recognizing the girl who stood before her. She was quite pretty with her curly brown hair and dark skin, despite the serious expression on her face.

"Lady Sansa," She spoke with an unfamiliar accent.

"Queen Daenerys wishes to speak with you."

"Of course," She answered amiably, stepping out of the room, waiting for the girl to escort her as she was like to do, despite knowing the way better.

They walked in silence, and though she had been playing it close to the heart since she accepted the summons, she could not help her suspicion of the dragon Queen, for she was a Targaryen, and three Starks had died by their hands.

Thankfully it did not take long to reach the Queen's chambers. They arrived in that moment, and at her door stood four men, dark skinned and serious. They said nothing, only opened the door to let them pass, the girl nodded at them before guiding her inside.

The silver-haired Targaryen sat in the same spot, she herself had only just left in her own chambers, though the room was bigger of course. There was another chair by the fire, as well as a small table with a platter of food and a half empty cup of wine.

She stood when they entered, her eyes locking onto her escort before finding her own as she approached. She was beautiful Sansa realized, and petite, shorter than her by at least a foot, though there was strength in her gaze that made her seem taller somehow.

"Lady Sansa," She smiled warmly, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

She returned the grin, before bowing her head, "Your Grace. I am honoured."

Queen Daenerys took her arm before she spoke, "It is I, who is honoured. Come, let's sit. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Yes, thank you your Grace," Sansa replied as she took the seat opposite from where the Queen had been.

Suddenly her handmaiden approached her, a cup in hand.

"Thank you," Sansa said gratefully, taking the proffered glass.

"This is Missandei," Queen Daenerys said then, "My most trusted friend."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa," She spoke with a smile.

It is good to meet you as well Missandei, and I hope the North has been kind to you."

She nodded but did not say anything, only turned to Queen Daenerys before she bowed lightly and left. Caught in the girl's silent departure, Sansa did not speak.

"How was your journey? Everything went well in the Eyrie I hope?"

Sansa should not have been surprised she knew, with the Spider at her service, it was no wonder, yet she had thought to be of no import to the southern Queen. Her silence must have given her away though, because she spoke again.

"I was not keeping tabs on you of course, but it seems Lord Varys always kept an eye on Littlefinger, and when you appeared alone in the Vale, it did not take him long to figure out why."

She had not come out and said it, yet it was clear Queen Daenerys knew at least, that Petyr was dead. The news was not common knowledge, considering his remains were only now on their way back to the Fingers.

"Yes, thank you your Grace," She repeated her earlier words once more, deciding to address only her question.

"My cousin Robin as well as my Uncle Edmure, are both loyal to House Stark," She added, hoping it was the confirmation she needed to hear that all was well in the Vale, and the Riverlands.

Either she did, or she decided not to press further Sansa was not sure, but in any case the Queen changed topic.

"I take it you have heard, of my betrothal to your brother Jon?"

Sansa did not address her words directly, only nodded. She was not bothered by this news, but had yet to be convinced in the truth of it. Though Sansa had not seen the dragons with her own eyes she'd heard of them, she had no doubt how easy it would be for Queen Daenerys to take the North by force, as she did with Pyke. So why had she not done so? It was clear what Jon and the North got from this bargain, but what did the Dragon Queen truly gain aside from a husband, and the fealty of his land?

Either something in her expression had given her away again, or the Queen was good at reading others, she was not sure.

"I do not blame your suspicion, considering our family's history, but I hope you can believe me when I tell you, that my only wish is to unite the kingdoms, all of them. To put an end to the tyranny of evil men."

She spoke forcefully, and Sansa couldn't help wondering if she actually meant what she said. She had never met a Targaryen, but Daenerys seemed everything one would be, fire and blood, and yet, there was kindness too, hidden deep in her voice and eyes, one only had to be looking carefully to see it.

"Begging your pardon your Grace," Sansa said keeping her voice smooth and submissive, "But as long as mankind lives, there will always be tyranny."

"I am no man. I am the mother of dragons, the breaker of chains, the unburnt," Queen Daenerys answered, her voice forceful, but even.

Suddenly though, her eyes softened as she spoke again, "You do not know me, but I have heard a great deal of you, from many sources. We are much alike, you and I."

Sansa was not sure how to take this, from her change of topic once more to wondering who exactly had spoke of her, and what they had said. Queen Daenerys did not let her dwell on it though.

"Like you, I have been both used and betrayed, have suffered at the hands of my enemies, _and_ those who would protect me. I took matters into my own hands to survive, and was made stronger by my pain."

Sansa could not be sure of course, as she knew very little of the Queen's life, but her words resonated within her none-the-less.

"I too, have married twice."

For a moment, her words hung silent but heavy in the air between them. Though her two husbands had been polar opposites of each other, and she held no ill will towards Tyrion, in fact the opposite, she was grateful for his kindness towards her, Sansa still did not much care for thinking of either of them. It only did to remind her of own powerlessness, something she was sure she did not want to feel ever again.

"And though I would have liked my third to be for love, I am at least grateful that he is a good man, and that the realm will prosper from our union."

The Queen had sobered, serious once more, by the time she finished speaking. She reached for her glass of wine and took a sip before she summoned Missandei once more. Sansa was grateful for the interruption, and followed the queen's lead by taking a long swig from her own cup.

She arrived moments later, a basket of a fair size in her arms, which she gave to Sansa when she reached them.

"A small token of my appreciation for your hospitality," The Queen said, smiling.

She looked inside and realized it was filled with precious items, fine silks in bold colours, delicate jewelry of silver and gold, and three pearls, which glimmered in the firelight. Unable to help it, she picked them up by the clear thread that held them together.

"They were given to me by a Dornish man, who claimed he'd gotten them from a mermaid who wished to trade for a few of the fish he'd caught that day. He said it was her, who fashioned them into pendants, using some of his fishing line."

Sansa finally returned the grin, and spoke, "They are beautiful, it all is, thank you your Grace."

It would not do to refuse the kindness, and she would be sure to sew some of the fabric soon, perhaps even wear one such garment to the queen and Jon's own wedding.

"I am pleased you like it," She replied, standing.

She glanced over to Missandei and the girl nodded, taking the basket back from her.

"Missandei will take it to your chambers, come let us go take a stroll before the evening meal. I have become very fond of the Godswood, although I am still adjusting to the cold winds."

Sansa nodded and stood, her distrust finally disappearing as she realized the Queen was a gentle woman underneath her tough exterior.

"As am I, your Grace," She answered with a smirk.

 **§**

More than a few days passed before Sansa came to understand what else the Queen hoped to gain in her new northern allies. She had accompanied her once more, on a turn through the Godswood and had run into her brother Jon, sitting in the same spot their father once did.

It was a rare moment, the three of them alone, one Sansa quickly realized, the Queen had orchestrated.

"There is unity in the kingdoms, or there will be once we marr- well once the south and north are one realm," She began cryptically.

Jon would soon marry the Targaryen Queen, here in the North, once the Lords and Ladies arrived, and though he hadn't seemed pleased at first, he didn't seem to mind as much anymore. They spent a lot of time together already, and it was rumoured that he'd been seen riding the green dragon alongside the queen. She was not sure of the latter, as she spent much of her time preparing the castle itself for winter, and their enemy, but it was clear they'd grown fond of one another at least.

"There is one more union though, that would truly bind the kingdoms, once and for all."

Whatever she intended on sharing, it was clear Jon did not know either when he stilled at her words, both their gazes heavy on the Targaryen Queen.

"I mean to ask Lady Sansa to marry, for the good of the realm," She answered, sure to keep her voice gentle.

Sansa suddenly suspected she was going to send her to King's Landing and back to her old husband, who currently guarded the place, but she told herself once she got out, she would never go back.

"Where would you have me go?" She managed to ask evenly.

The Queen hesitated for a long moment before she finally spoke, her voice heavy, "The Westerlands."

Of all the answers in all the world, it was the one she'd least expected, and she couldn't hide the confused shock on her face.

Frowning she inquired, "Casterly Rock?" Thinking surely that it couldn't be.

She nodded solemnly.

"But lord Tyrion is in King's Landing-" She stopped when she realized it wasn't Tyrion she meant.

"You wish me to marry the Kingslayer?" Her tone was surprised, not only because he was vastly older than her, but the notion seemed inconceivable, her marry Jaime Lannister?

"They call him the Knight of Mercy now," She continued, her voice gentle once more, clearly trying to make the best of a terrible situation.

"Mercy, for whom?" She replied, though it was clear she didn't expect an answer.

The Queen said nothing at first and avoided looking over at Jon. It was obvious she did not truly wish to ask this of her, but as Sansa thought of it, she began to see why she had. With Jon and Daenerys married, House Stark and House Targaryen would be bound, ending a decades old feud. If she wed Jaime, so too would House Lannister be bound, and it would signify the start of peace in a way only the union of wolf and lion could.

"You would wed my sister to another Lannister?" Jon finally spoke, his voice dark and deeper than she'd ever heard it.

Standing, he sheathed his blade once more, his movements tight and controlled, silent as the sound of Longclaw sliding into the scabbard filled the air.

"If she will agree, I would," The Queen answered, her own temper flaring.

"It is good then, that she is not in your charge," He answered contemptuously.

Though Sansa knew he was only trying to protect her, she still could not help herself, as she spoke in turn, looking at her brother, her own voice strong and defiant, "I am in no one's charge but my own."

He was not subdued, and took a step towards her.

"I am the King in the North and you are my sister. I will not allow you to be sold off to a Lannister, even with your own consent."

He gave her a long and dark glare that kept her silent before he finally turned to the Queen once more. For the first time since Sansa had ever seen them together, the mother of dragons looked like the petite woman she was physically, Jon seemed to tower over her though he was not much taller.

"I had not thought you capable of trickery, but it seems I was wrong. I have declared our union, but I have not yet given my word."

His anger faded suddenly, and though he was not looking at her, Sansa could tell he'd been hurt by the Queen's omission. He turned away then, his eyes finding his sister's once more.

"I once promised you I would never put you in harms way, and I intend to keep my word."

She remembered Brienne then, and everything she had learned about Jaime Lannister. How it was because of him that she'd been able to go find her, that it was him who'd sent her. That he was honourable, and good, even though he was a Lannister. Tyrion had been kind to her once and had never used nor abused he, so she didn't have that hard a time believing it exactly, especially not after meeting him herself.

And Jaime loved his sister, of that she was certain, it was likely even in death, he still did. Surely, he would have no interest in her in _that_ way, and after everything she'd suffered, it hardly seemed like a hardship, what the queen was asking of her. She would gain a husband, a broken man who would likely never touch her, and she saved herself from being sold off to some other man who intended to wed and bed her. As for heirs, there was no rush in solving that little problem.

She turned to the Queen, and by her expression, and her steady and worried gaze on Jon's face, Sansa realized she had actually come to care for her brother, or his opinion, at the very least.

Glancing back at her brother she finally spoke, "The great war is coming Jon, and you said it yourself, we must fight together if we are to win. I don't believe the Queen intends on putting me in harm's way."

It was at her own words, that Sansa remembered something Queen Daenerys had said to her, the day they had met.

"Jaime is a good man, Jon. Brienne always said it," She said, before she turned to the Queen once more, her gaze steady.

"In any case, I should like to meet with him before accepting, your Grace, if you would allow me."

She seemed relieved though Sansa had not agreed exactly, but her cheeks burned red when she spoke, "He will be here within a fortnight, maybe less. Though I had expected you to say no, I asked Tyrion to send him so that you could meet him at least, anew. He is guilty only of loving the wrong woman."

"And of being a Lannister, and fathering the monster who killed our father and abused our sister," Jon interjected.

And then Sansa did something, she had not ever done. She stood up for a Lannister.

"He also helped save my life."

Queen Daenerys followed her lead, "He killed his sister, the woman he loved, to save the city. He has proven his loyalty with her life, do you not agree?" Her voice boomed in the quiet of the Godswood.

Sansa reached out, putting a hand to his arm, forcing his gaze to hers once more, the anger dissipating as his eyes found hers, but he said nothing, only looked at her for a long moment before turning to the Queen for the briefest of seconds before he pulled his arm away.

"I will not allow it," He said before he left them.

The quiet held for a few moments before Sansa spoke.

"Why does he think he comes?"

Letting out a deep breath, she answered, "To swear fealty to your brother, and attend our wedding as a lord of the realm. And then, if you will have him, you will wed."

She nodded and grinned without mirth, "You intend to wed us here, in the North."

"I admit, it is what I hoped."

"I am relieved not to be the only one ensnared in your ploy," Sansa admitted, almost smiling. "I will meet him, but I make no promises."

She'd nearly completely agreed to the arrangement, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was her girlish memories of ser Jamie, he'd been far from her favourite, but she'd seen his tenacity in the joust, and she'd admitted that he was very handsome, with his golden locks. He was older now of course, but his looks had not faded with age. Beauty was not everything, but she could not deny it helped.

"I will talk to my brother as well," she added, glancing over to where he'd stalked off.

"Thank you Lady Sansa," The Queen replied gratefully.

* * *

a/n: Hard to believe, considering this is a Sansa chapter and she's not my strongest pov, but this is my longest chapter to date. Inspiration was hard to find for awhile there, but it's back with a vengeance it seems. Thankfully.

As always, reviews are appreciated. Thanks again.


	29. A Drinking Song

Short and not sweet exactly, but I did have loads of fun writing this one.

* * *

 _Wine comes in at the mouth and love comes in at the eye;  
That's all we shall know for truth before we grow old and die.  
I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh._

 _A Drinking Song by W.B. Yeats_

 **Tyrion**

 **†**

His journey back to King's Landing was quick and uneventful, he had not minded though because he realized he was eager to get back. Being in Casterly Rock only reminded him that it would never be his, but since he had no wife, not after having the sham one annulled once he'd returned to rule as hand, he had no need of a castle in which to put her, and the Red Keep was more than enough for him.

His journey back to King's Landing was quick and uneventful, he had not minded though because he realized he was eager to get back. Being in Casterly Rock only reminded him that it would never be his, but since he had no wife, not after having the sham one annulled once he'd returned to rule as hand, he had no need of a castle in which to put her, and the Red Keep was more than enough for him.

As he reached the castle, construction was still being done on the throne room, but he was pleased to see that they had accomplished much in his absence. Lord Varys greeted him alone, as he'd expected considering the rest were gone. Considering she was the only one left of her House to rule over the Reach, Lady Olenna had returned to Highgarden for a visit shortly before he'd taken his trip back to his own ancestral home.

"Lord Tyrion, it is good to have you back. Your presence has been sorely missed."

Varys spoke as if he truly meant what he said, and he realized suddenly that the man was not his usual calm self.

"What has happened Lord Varys, to make you miss me so?" He smiled, knowing it was not something serious since the man seemed more weary and exasperated than anything else.

He did not answer at first, only stepped aside and motioned him forward, and away from his carriage and the many ears around them. Tyrion did as he was bid, his lips turned up, eager to hear whatever news the Spider had for him.

"The Sand Snake has arrived from Dorne," He answered finally, as they walked up the steps to the Keep alone. "And clearly her father's daughter."

He chuckled, unable to help it, "Too much for you to handle?"

"That is putting it mildly," Lord Varys answered seriously.

"I'm not sure what the Queen was thinking with this appointment, what position could this girl possibly hold? A skilled fighter to be sure, but I doubt her capable of sitting in one spot for long, let alone the council room for an entire meeting."

This time Tyrion outright laughed, compelled by the force of his friend's words.

"Surely it's not that bad," He managed to say.

Varys shot him a glance before the guards let them in.

"She makes you seem like the master of composure and propriety."

Tyrion did not take offence to the slight, instead his amusement only deepened. He'd met two of the sand snakes during his time in Dorne, and though they were not alike in personality, they were both fierce warrior women who would not be told what to do, and while he was fond of that spirit, he could not see the Spider was not.

He was glad there was still some excitement to be had in the capital.

"Well then you will be relieved to know that right now my only intention is to return to my chambers and draw a nice hot bath, then have Daryn bring me my dinner as well as a pitcher of Dornish wine to wash it all down. I'll meet your Sand Snake tomorrow, at the council meeting."

Varys sighed, but bowed all the same, "Very well my lord. Shall I fetch your squire for you?"

Tyrion smiled, "If you'd be so kind."

 **†**

He woke late the next day, it was morning no longer he realized, seeing the sun bright in the sky when he pulled back the drapes to let the light in. He'd spent the night reading some of the books he'd requested from the Citadel, that had arrived some time after his departure for Casterly Rock. Most of it was regarding the dragons and Targaryen lore, though he'd requested some on the Long Night as well, as he could not put aside what Lord Varys had revealed to him and the Queen, of what the King in the North believed.

He had spent most his time on a particular tome about the habits of dragons, as Viserion often flew over King's Landing but otherwise was rarely seen within the city walls. He hunted, Tyrion was sure, but what else occupied his time and where else did he go? The volume had not been entirely helpful in the end and he sighed realizing he would likely spend another sleepless night with his nose deep in a book and go through more than one pitcher of wine.

Tyrion turned away from the tomes and scrolls suddenly, deciding he would think on them later, and instead summoned Daryn to fetch his breakfast. He dressed while he waited and after it arrived he told his squire to notify Lord Varys that he would be ready to hold council within the hour.

Not wanting to insult their newest member, he arrived early, not surprised when he saw Varys already in his seat.

"Good afternoon my lord. I trust you had a good night's sleep?"

He nodded, though it was not exactly true, and served himself his first glass of wine before taking his own seat.

"i'm glad to hear it," The Spider said sounding as if he truly meant it.

Tyrion's lips went up, knowing the reason behind his words, but he did not speak, only sipped from his cup.

"It is good of you to be on time, my Lord, but I'm afraid the Lady is not as prompt."

Amused by his friend's relentless condemnation of the girl, he chuckled deeply.

"She has really gotten under your skin hasn't she?" He asked, still grinning.

"It could not be me you are speaking of?" A voice said then, feminine and accented.

He turned to her, his witty retort at his friend's expense, dying on his lips. She was clearly Oberyn Martell's daughter, with her dark hair, olive skin and lithe body, but she was also clearly her mother's, exuding confidence, and a come-hither expression. She was petite where her mother was tall, but dressed in Dornish fashion, her dress low cut and the bottom half sheer, he could tell she was still long legged with curves in all the right places.

"Not at all, Lady Tyene," Lord Varys said after a moment, his tone unaffected, though he was clearly lying through his teeth.

Tyrion glanced over at him, grateful the man had answered when it seemed he could not.

Are you not cold my Lady?" He heard himself finally ask. It was not yet winter, but the trees had already changed colour, and the nights were cool.

She smiled and glanced down at herself, as if she only just realized what she was wearing before answering, "My blood runs hot."

She stepped further into the room, looking about the room before she sat.

He turned to Lord Varys then, and Tyrion was surprised to see a bemused look on his friend's face. He swallowed heavily trying to find his composure once more, glancing at the sand snake once more.

"Queen Daenerys informed me it would be your sister Nymeria who sat on the council."

As he spoke she poured herself some wine, raised it towards him then took one long swallow, before leaning back into her seat.

She spoke then, her tone ambivalent, "It was, but at the last moment my sister Obarra decided she did not wish to be the Princess of Dorne, which is lucky for me as I did not truly desire to serve as Queensguard. This is less exciting of course, but I am free at the least."

She smiled seductively, before adding, "To do what and _whom_ I please."

Tyrion cleared his throat before following her lead and sipped at his own cup, and though it was usually him who spoke salaciously, he felt his cheeks flush and found himself grateful for the beard that hid them from sight.

"Is the Kingslayer's friend here?" She asked after a moment, her tone curious. "The older man, with dark hair and a moustache and a sharp mouth?"

Aside from the fact that his brother did not have many friends, with a description like that, there was only the one.

"Bronn, you mean? He is heading North in fact, to the wedding, where he will eventually marry his own bride."

She seemed slightly upset by this, and he was surprised to find himself grateful Lord Bronn had finally been given his prize. The moment passed though and her eyes were firmly on him.

"And you my lord?" She asked coyly.

He wasn't sure what she was asking, whether he was going to the wedding, or if he had a bride of his own, so he did not immediately answer.

"King's Landing is my charge for the moment, all of ours," He answered, turning to the only other left, suddenly remembering him.

Lord Varys' lips twitched, as if trying to contain a smile, before he answered, "With all the high Lords and Ladies in the North, there is not much to worry about down here."

"The three of us," He paused, shooting a dubious glance at the sand snake before continuing. "Should be able to handle it, though I do admit, I would have liked to attend the ceremony, I hear the ritual under the heart tree is quite moving."

Her eyes flashed towards Tyrion, smiling mischievously before she spoke, her voice heavy with implication, "Not as much _moving_ as there will be that night."

A scowl found its way onto Lord Varys' face, but he did not address her words. Tyrion himself chuckled.

"Let us hope so," He answered semi-seriously, raising his glass to her.

Though he hadn't seen Jon Snow in many years, he was sure the man hadn't changed that much, still honourable and headstrong, but the Queen could be abrasive and let her temper get the better of her, and so he was not sure how compatible they actually were. It had not gone all bad so far it seemed, as Jon had already agreed to the union, but something told him that the king would not be so agreeable when it came to Daenerys' intended match for his sister.

His brother Jaime would be arriving in the North soon no doubt, it was possible he already knew. Varys' birds were few in the North, so Tyrion himself would know nothing, not for some time. It made him feel useless, being stuck in the capital with no one to council but the men working in the great hall. Somehow though, he could no longer bring himself to be bothered by this.

She clinked her cup against his.

"To fucking," She said smiling wickedly, before swallowing the rest of her wine.

Tyrion felt his own lips go up, though he did his best to keep it in control, flashing an apologetic look to Lord Varys before he answered, "To fucking."

 **†**

The next morning, after he broke his fast, he wrote to each House announcing Queen Daenerys' wedding to the King in the North, and summoned each Lady and Lord to attend. His hand hurt by the time he was done, it was lucky he'd only had to write to three of the nine houses.

After, he made his way to the Great Hall, having had Varys announce that there was to be a royal proclamation. He'd put on his finest silk tunic and a doublet of black leather, his silver pin proclaiming him hand shining brightly against it. That morning he'd trimmed his hair and beard and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he suddenly felt ridiculous. His motivations were clear, but no amount of trims and fine clothing would make him taller, nor erase the ghastly scar that covered his face. Unable to fool himself he turned away, letting his shoulders slump.

There had been no one since Shae, and if she had taught him anything, it was that no woman would ever take interest in him, not unless he paid her.

It was not until after his announcement, which had been received mostly with cheers, but also some hushed whispers, when the crowd had dwindled, that she approached him sitting on the Throne.

He'd been speaking to Balon Swann over the Keep's guard shifts, when he caught sight of her bold yellow gown. She must have been looking his way as his eyes found hers almost immediately. He faintly noticed the knight turn back and then smiling, excuse himself as she made her way to him, stopping on the steps so their eyes remained level.

"You are well suited to this post, you enjoy it yes?"

She was nothing if not blunt, and though he did not mind, he looked around to see that though there were eyes on them, none were within ears reach, and of that he was glad.

Considering her candor, he decided to return it in kind, though he felt self-conscious admitting it.

"I do," He answered, his voice low, the traces of a grin pulling at his lips.

She seemed satisfied with his answer, and for a few seconds, neither spoke.

"I thought to take a turn about the gardens, though they are dull compared to the ones in Sunspear. You would like to join me, no?"

He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she always spoke in question and implication, or if she was only playing with him, to see how he'd answer. Something told him, it was the latter.

"I am not too fond of the gardens myself, perhaps the Godswood instead?"

He'd grown attached to the spot since he'd been back in the capital, as it was quiet and surprisingly peaceful in the bustling castle and city. In this case, it would offer him some privacy, as it was not a popular spot amongst the castle's inhabitants, in case she should ask anything else he did not want others to know. Or at least that is what he told himself.

She did not seem enthused, but she nodded. "I have not been interested to visit this spot I admit, but perhaps there is more to it than just trees?"

He tried not to deflate, because there wasn't, not truly.

"Yes," He answered anyway, standing.

He turned to Lord Varys who'd been standing off to his side, noting he was no longer occupied with the castle's new Maester.

"I will return in a bit," He said, keeping his voice even.

The spider smiled, but only nodded.

When he reached her, she took his arm, and for once he hardly noticed the many stares that followed him out of the Throne Room.

Once they reached the Godswood, and the Heart Tree where dragon's breath bloomed heavily, she finally spoke again.

"It is quiet, and very green."

She sounded disappointed, and it was obvious she had not taken to the spot as he had.

"Is there nothing exciting in this castle?" she asked her voice bored.

He wanted to impress her, but wasn't sure what he could possibly do or show her to achieve such a thing. He was sure her true interests lied in activities such as riding and fighting and hunting, and he did not want to make it more clear to her that he couldn't keep up with her in such things.

He sighed, realizing himself that there wasn't. Just as he was about to open his mouth to tell her, Viserion screeched in the distance, though he sounded closer than usual. They both looked up, but the canopy of trees covered most of the view, and without speaking, they both made their way towards the northwest side, closest to the Throne Room where some of the trees had burned away in their proximity.

As they reach the spot, their eyes turned up once more as the dragon rumbled again. The trees bristled and swayed as he made his descent, and Tyrion couldn't help but smile feeling grateful of Viserion's sudden presence, especially as he noticed the stunned look on her face.

He was not as big as his brothers, but still he filled the little space available to him as his talons latched onto the burnt ground.

Tyrion had not been this close to the dragon, not since he'd freed him and Rhaegar from their chains in Mereen, but he did not feel afraid as he had that time. Not even when Viserion lowered his head, bringing it dangerously close to himself.

He reached out steadily, wondering briefly where this bravado was coming from, but when he turned to look at her once more, he suddenly remembered. When he turned back, he felt the side of Viserion's face touch his palm, and he let out a breath as he felt his rough scales. After a few moments, Tyrion felt him pull away, turning his head to Tyene before inhaling deeply, blinking at her before releasing the breath, a faint puff of smoke escaping his mouth, then he flapped his wings and rose into the sky once more, gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

She exhaled deeply, then laughed, looking exhilarated as she glanced over to him.

"Now I see why you like this spot, he visits you often?" She asked, taking his arm once.

Tyrion couldn't help the little white lie that escaped his lips.

"Quite often. Viserion and I are fast friends."

* * *

a/n: So yup, I'll be pairing Tyrion with a Sand Snake, though my Tyene is a loose version of the one on the series. Theirs is not one of my main ships, but since there will be lots of angst when it comes to the other two featured in this part of the series, I thought i'd let myself have some fun with them instead. Hope you guys are into it.

One other thing, I've gotten some concerned reviews about House Stark, but all I can tell you, is i've got it all figured out, and though it may not be what is expected (or likely to happen in the series), it's not going anywhere. You'll just have to wait and see, but I will say this, Jaime and Sansa are a go in this fic.

Thanks again for reading and reviewing and following this little world I've created. It means a lot.


	30. Everything That Man Esteems

Ready or not, here we go.

* * *

 _Everything that man esteems endures a moment or a day.  
Love's pleasure drives his love away…  
The herald's cry, the soldier's tread  
exhaust his glory and his might: Whatever flames upon the night  
Man's own resinous heart has fed._

 _from Everything That Man Esteems by William Butler Yeats_

 **Jaime**

 **ø**

He travelled from Casterly Rock on horseback, along with a small retinue, men his brother insisted accompany him, Bronn among them. He was both glad and bothered by this. In one regard, he was grateful not to be alone in the North, in the other, he was to marry Lady Sansa and Bronn had been there when Tyrion had done so, and with Bronn's mouth, both astute and uncouth, things were bound to be uncomfortable.

The closer they reached their destination the shorter and colder the days became, but still their trip had been pleasant so far, considering Bronn only knew that they'd both attend the Queen's wedding, swear fealty to Jon, and then he would get his castle and bride. Bronn was to be on his best behaviour, and he said he would be, but with Bronn, Ser of the Blackwater, and future Lord of the Twins, one never truly knew.

But it was in that temporary and comfortable lull, as well as the steady pace of his steed and the road, that Jaime's mind began to wander, and dwell on things he'd been trying to forget.

As a Lannister, there was no shortage of guilt on his shoulders, strange that the worst of it, the most daunting, had been born out of love. For _her_. He could not think her name, it still hurt too much to remember what she turned into, and what he let himself become.

He knew that if he was going to enter this union, false though it was, he could not come with lies and omission. Lady Stark deserved the truth, and if her brother cut off his head, well it's not as if he was not already taking that risk by going North. In any case, at least he'd be done with it all.

He thought of his would-be wife, remembering the first time he'd ever truly looked at Sansa Stark. It had been shortly after his return to King's Landing, and a few days before his son's wedding, after he'd lost a hand and gained a stump. Brienne's not so kindly reminder of his vow to protect the girl was still fresh in his mind.

It had been during some formal event for the King's upcoming nuptials, he could not remember exactly as there had been many of them, Cersei had been purposely ignoring him, and his brother had claimed illness and not attended. Bored, as there was no one else worth conversing with, he glanced about the room disinterestedly when she caught his eye. She had been sitting next to Lady Margery and as they spoke animatedly, he could not help compare the two. Joffrey's intended was a little older and more striking, and she moved with purpose, as if she knew of the effect her movements created in the opposite sex.

As for Lady Sansa, she had seemed to have forgotten her many layers of calculated indifference and ever present grief, because as she smiled at something the Tyrell had said, he caught a rare kind of softness in the northern girl, perhaps some fragment of who she'd once been. In that moment, he'd instantly known which would be a better wife in the end. And though it had not mattered that his son had not chosen her, since he'd died on the eve of his marriage, Jaime realized he would soon find out for himself.

He wondered if she knew yet of the Queen's ploy, and how she had, or would, react to the news. Considering both he and Sansa had been prisoners of each other's family, they had spent decidedly little time in each other's presence, she had not even really existed in his own mind until Lady Catelyn had first mentioned her daughters to him when he'd been her prisoner.

When she did, it was only ever about fulfilling his oath to her mother, and when Brienne had found her, in some small way, he had. Now though, he was about to swear a vow of another kind and he could not help but wonder if this new one negated the last.

As a boy, all he'd ever wanted was to be an honourable knight like Sir Arthur Dayne, yet it seemed he was doomed to be nothing more than a man without honour. His life was little more than a series of broken vows: ' _protect the king_ ', yet he'd stabbed his in the back, ' _defend the innocent_ ', yet he'd pushed one from a tower with the intent to end his life, ' _honour thy father_ ', yet he'd freed the brother who killed him, ' _serve your family'_ , though he'd suffocated his. The list only went on. He'd betrayed the dragon queen for love, and had betrayed _her_ for duty. And now, he was about to break the only one left, to deliver her from his family and return her North', yet he was about to take her from it.

He had no choice though, not truly.

They arrived just after the sun fell, deciding to push on as the clouds were dark and looming, it would snow soon. The King in the North and the Queen of the South were in the Hall with everyone else, eating. He was grateful for his luck, with the ruckus of the meal, no one would notice him, nor Bronn behind him, enter.

He'd been sorely mistaken, as the hall quieted the minute he stepped in, and he never more felt like a cat in a room full of dogs. At least in the North, he was still the Kingslayer.

As he walked steadily towards the main table, he noted that none of the other high lords or ladies had yet arrived. Then he saw the man he'd once met as a bastard boy sitting in the centre, Queen Daenerys to his right, and Lady Sansa, his intended, to his left. There was an older man with a familiar face sitting next to her, and on the other end sat the Queen's confidants, Missandei and Grey Worm.

He kept his eyes on the King, and bowed deeply when he reached them.

"Your Grace, my Queen, Lady Sansa," He said cordially.

The King and Queen nodded back, and Sansa locked eyes with him for a moment, but did not move.

"Ser Jaime," King Jon replied, his expression dark but his voice even. "Welcome to the North."

He had no way of knowing of course, but by the look in his eyes, he was certain King Jon knew of his true purpose in the North. He was certain however, that neither he nor the Queen, knew of his secret rendezvous at the Tooth.

"Is Lord Bronn not with you?" The silver haired Targaryen asked then, her eyes darting over to Jon as she spoke, though he did not glance back at her.

Jaime wasn't sure when the man had slipped from his side, but he was suddenly never more grateful for the former sellsword's presence, as all eyes turned to him when he said, "Ay, your grace, I am here."

He stepped forward from the table he sat at with Jaime's other men, coming to stand beside him.

"Begging your pardons, your Grace, I was not aware my presence was requested."

He gave a pointed look at him, then bowed.

Queen Daenerys smiled, but it was Lady Sansa who spoke.

"It is customary for high Lords and Ladies to greet their King and Queen whenever the moment arises."

Her voice was not unkind though there was no grin on her face, and Jaime suddenly remembered this was not the first time they'd met.

"Do not worry Lord Bronn," Queen Daenerys said then, her voice accommodating, "It is a new world and we are all making new discoveries."

He nodded politely, but did not speak. So she continued, "Come, sit, you and your men must be famished after your journey."

She motioned to their table.

"Thank you Your Grace," Jaime said for the both of them.

Just as they were about to leave, the King finally spoke.

"Lord Bronn."

The man in question looked up from his bow, surprised to have been called out.

"Your Grace?" he answered.

King Jon did not hesitate, his voice even,"You once served Lord Tyrion did you not?"

This question was unexpected, to them both, as well as the Queen, as she only looked at her intended.

"Aye, your Grace, a long time ago."

He turned to his sister for a moment, her eyes catching his briefly, before he continued.

"How different is it serving his brother?"

Bronn glanced over at him, as if he was truly considering the question.

With a smirk directed towards him he answered, "He's prettier, your Grace."

Jaime knew Bronn well enough to know what that inferred, touched by the compliment, but wondered briefly if the King would actually believe that he was anything like his brother.

He nodded but did not speak, and when it became clear he would not, but the King's eyes never found the Queen's. Bronn bowed once more, and Jaime nodded, though he spared a glance at lady Sansa, immediately catching her eyes as she studied him intensely.

He turned before anyone could notice, knowing they would have time to formally talk. He felt her eyes follow him down the row, along with many others though he hardly seemed to notice them. When he sat, he looked up at her, but she was talking to the man beside her, and after a moment he turned to the food being placed before him.

"You're the most hated man in the North," Bronn said to him then, picking up his leg of chicken.

"Yet the most beautiful woman in this room, or second depending on who you ask, would not turn you down if you offered her your Lannister cock."

Jaime looked at him disgusted by his vulgarity that felt oddly comforting, then added with a smirk, "It's good to know where you stand on the ranking."

The Lord of the Twins turned to look at him, chewing, and had the decency to wait until he was done before responding.

"Oh the Queen would be number one certainly, if not for the gooey eyes she has for king Jon." He spoke lowly, so no one would hear.

Jaime laughed mostly for that than what he'd said, but now that he sat, and Bronn had cleared some of the tension, no one was paying them any mind.

"I suppose we know where you stand," He continued, giving him a look.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Jaime answered ambivalently, cutting at his own leg of chicken.

He could hear the grin in his companion's voice, "Sure you do. You made quite the effort to introduce yourself to her after all."

He glanced over again at Bronn, catching the quality of his expression.

"Your brother's ex-wife, no less, " He said before biting into the meat in his grip. "It's good to know you're a lecherous old man, just like the rest of us."

He did not look at her for a long time, not until it seemed Lord Bronn, had forgotten. When he finally did, his eyes locked on hers once more, but then someone walked past, and she was looking at the man next to her again.

And then he looked no more, even though he felt her eyes on him at times, for the rest of the night.

 **ø**

He woke the next morning early, only slightly sore from his ride. He asked his squire to fetch him a bath, and as he waited he looked out at the morning light. The ground was covered in a thick layer of new snow, and he wondered how people lived here, surrounded by so much cold almost year round.

His water arrived, and they brought him some fruit, cheese and bread, and he ate a little while he waited. He stripped and got in as soon as they left, sliding in until he was nearly submersed. He sat there for a long time, letting the warmth soothe his bones and muscles.

After, he dressed and left his chambers though he wished to remain hidden there, and headed towards the main hall to find Bronn. It was a cold morning, but the castle was surprisingly warm. He wore his cloak, only because he hoped to go for a walk to stretch his muscles. He thought to invite Bronn, though he doubted the man would be interested, still he would try. As he approached the Hall he caught sight of a glimmer from the corner of his eye, and turned to see Lady Sansa approaching.

He hadn't wanted to admit it to his friend, but when he set his gaze upon her, he realized she was truly beautiful. At their secret meeting he'd been too distracted, first with worry then with despair, so he hadn't noticed how her auburn hair shone in the firelight, nor had he seen it shine in the sun as he did now. He'd seemed to have forgotten that her eyes were ice blue like the North she was from, and that she was a young woman now. There was a seriousness in her that was utterly alluring.

"Good morning Lord Jaime," She said when she reached him, as he'd stopped to wait for her. She bent her head and he bowed in return.

"Morning Lady Sansa, " He replied evenly.

"Heading to the Great Hall?" She asked simply.

When he nodded, she added, "As am I."

They resumed step, walking side by side. It was too quiet, so he spoke, "'I'm looking for Lord Bronn, if he is awake, I imagine it is where he'll be."

She said nothing to his words, and he felt all the more ridiculous for them. They walked in silence, the quiet heavy as they were surprisingly alone in a castle that was no longer completely asleep.

"How are you, Lord Jaime?" She asked, her voice gentle, concerned.

He knew what she meant though she hadn't said her name directly. He hadn't intended on bringing her up, not now when he was meant to do his duty.

After he'd found out that night in the Inn, he'd blamed Sansa, Littlefinger, himself. He'd raged and drank and mourned yet another woman he'd loved. He's not sure what it meant, but he had loved her. He knew now only Littlefinger was to blame, and if she was gone, he was grateful to have at least known her, and been a changed man because of her.

Another moment passed before he let himself answer.

"Well enough."

Her lips turned up slightly, though his words had been vague and unclear it seemed as if she knew that he had found some measure of peace.

"I know it is rather trite to say this, but all wounds can heal, it takes only time."

It was then that he remembered that she had suffered her own horrors, from her time with his family in King's Landing, to her time married to the monster that was Ramsey Bolton. He looked at her a moment and was reminded of Theon suddenly, something in their gaze that was the same, and though he'd always known on some level that they had been abused by the same man, it was only now that he truly realized what she had been through, and survived.

Brienne had not been wrong, he did not know many girls like her.

"Coming from you Lady Sansa, I would not say it is trite at all."

His tone was soft, and he hoped she would speak no more of honourable Lady Brienne. He could not bear it any longer. He was grateful when she said nothing, and they walked in silence, and it was not uncomfortable.

The hall was mostly empty, save for a few men eating at a table to the left, and the two former slaves from Essos, sitting at the head table, talking intently.

"It seems Lord Bronn has not yet roused from his slumber, as most of the castle," She said kindly.

"I should have expected as much," He almost grinned back.

He bowed to leave as she spoke, "You'd be more than welcome-" though she stopped when she realized his intentions, and he stopped mid-bow as well.

"I had hoped to persuade him to join me for a walk," He said as a means of explaining his sudden intention to leave.

This time she did smile, "You'll need many more layers if you intend to walk in the fresh snow."

"I had not planned on walking long," He answered, amiably though slightly confused.

"Two feet or a mile, you'll need warm boots and gloves at the least, if you do not wish to lose a limb," She said, her voice surprisingly light.

Feeling playful in return, he lifted his golden stump, "Another you mean?"

At this, she seemed embarrassed."I'm sorry Lord Jaime. I did not think..."

Again he interrupted her, "Do not worry. I've grown long accustomed to my missing hand. Hardly even miss it anymore."

He finished speaking with an actual grin on his face, and though he could not see, it felt real enough. At first she seemed unsure what to do, most people tended to react the same whenever he spoke lightly of his stump. After a moment, it seemed as if she decided not to say anything to his words, but as he was about to excuse himself once more, someone interrupted him mid-bow yet again.

"The King is ready to see you Lady Sansa," the voice said.

He turned to look at who it was, caught for a moment by his size, despite his obvious youth. By his armour he was clearly a soldier of house Stark, but he reminded him of the old King Robert, when he'd been young anyway, down to his beard and the surly look he shot Jaime when their eyes met.

"Ki-Lord Jaime," He corrected himself, though it fooled no one, "It is fortunate you're here, King Jon wishes you to remain in the Great Hall until he summons you."

He smiled perfunctorily, using it as a mask to hide his true feelings as he so often did. Though he was fairly certain that the man's words weren't how noble King Jon had phrased it, and he tried not to care what the wolf thought of the lion, he could not help feeling tired of that being held over him, especially when there were newer, worse sins he was guilty of.

He glanced over at Lady Sansa as he spoke, "I had no intentions of going elsewhere."

Thankfully she didn't dispute him and without another word, he bowed and left, though he only went as far as the table he'd sat at the night before. Their eyes locked for a moment before she followed the man out, and he tried to ignore the stares that covered him after she left the Hall.

He had long since broken his fast, and Bronn had come and gone, he'd been less than keen on strolling through the 'bloody snow'. However, Jaime now wondered if he'd even have the time himself, with how long he'd already been waiting.

He was being punished, of that he was certain, but the Great Has was no dungeon, and there was wine at least. By the time he was summoned, this time by a smaller and less abrasive guard, he'd already been certain that she was not coming back to finish their awkward conversation, and though he felt grateful for that, he wondered how he was going to marry this girl he could hardly speak to.

He did not have time to wonder long as he soon reached the King's solar, a pit forming in his stomach when he realized the Queen was nowhere to be seen. Luckily though, neither was the gruff soldier he'd encountered earlier.

"Sit," King Jon said once they were alone.

Jaime bowed and did as he was told, and didn't bother with false niceties, confident it wasn't going to help his case.

"Surely you know why you are here?" The King asked after a long moment.

Jaime knew what he meant, and hoping not to be misunderstood himself he answered, "I am here on the Queen's command."

King Jon's lips twisted into a false grin, "So you are, but it is I who rules in the North. Nothing transpires here that I do not approve."

"And I am glad of it your grace," He finally spoke, letting his voice sound as relieved as he felt.

It was likely this that kept the King silent long enough for Jaime to continue.

"But I am indebted to the Queen, and live by her mercy."

His words were poor replacement for the truth. He'd been aware of his sister's madness, long before the Dragon Queen haunted their shores, and he'd long since known it was his duty to put an end to her misery. But he'd been a fool, _still was_ , blinded by love for a woman of his own imagination, so he'd betrayed the Queen, both of them, the day he tried to take _Cersei_ away.

He could not say all this of course, it was not his place. The Queen had not made this information common knowledge, and though he doubted she planned to hide it from King Jon, he didn't want to betray her confidence by speaking out of turn, in case she had not already told him.

"But I am here, in the North, and my family has committed many crimes against yours, as have I. There is nothing I can say nor do that will undo the past. I do not ask for forgiveness, because in truth I do not deserve it, but perhaps it is time I pay the debt owed."

 _A Lannister always pays his debts after all._

He paused, taking a moment to find the right words. He'd planned a detailed confession, but in the end kept it simple.

"I pushed Bran, that day years ago. He caught us. Cersei and I— and I pushed him. I told myself I did it for love, for my family—"

He didn't get the chance to finish his words as suddenly he felt a hand crush his wind pipe and force him down to his knees. He heard the unmistakeable ring of steel being pulled from a scabbard and felt a rush of air as the door burst open almost in the same moment.

"Jon!" He heard a voice, a woman's, though he couldn't tell who as the side of King Jon's steel kept him firmly in his spot. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of red before it disappeared from sight and he heard the door close.

 _Lady Sansa_.

She glanced at him for a moment as she came into view.

"I hardly think spilling his blood in your solar will solve any of our problems," She said seriously.

Reasonable though her words were, Jaime was certain they had not derailed him when he felt his blade graze his throat, followed by the immediate sting of broken skin.

"No. Just one."

She did not panic, only stepped closer, laying a hand on her brother's arm, "It will only undo everything you've worked for and it will not give Bran his legs back."

This finally worked, as King Jon pulled the blade back enough to allow him movement once more, and turned to his sister, her sudden burst into the room finally clicking into place. He did not seem upset though he wasn't exactly thrilled that she'd been listening at the door.

Her brows went up a little as she shot him a pointed look, "I had to make sure you weren't going to do something stupid."

Suddenly, her brother seemed exasperated once more, "And it does not bother you?"

"Of course it does Jon, as did Theon's betrayal, and yet, I found myself capable of forgiveness, because they are more than their mistakes, as we all are."

When she glanced down at Jaime, he turned away, as he found he could not meet her eyes.

"Bran survived. He lost his legs, and Ser Jaime his hand, perhaps that is the price he was fated to pay for his crime. Perhaps not, but I'm tired of fighting, aren't you? _We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves_."

The words must have meant something special to the King, as all his ire went out of him, and he finally dropped the blade to his side, sheathing it once more.

"What of your happiness Sansa?" King Jon asked.

By the turn in their conversation, it seemed as if they had forgotten he was there. He wasn't sure how that could be since he was still kneeling on the floor before them, but he couldn't bring himself to look up let alone move, though his knees were beginning to ache. He hoped he wouldn't be kneeling this long at the actual ceremony when he and the other Lord's and Ladies swore fealty to their new respective ruler. He tried hard not to listen to their words, but failed miserably.

"Let us worry about today, and figure out tomorrow when, and _if_ , it comes."

He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by _if_ , but he finally looked up. Her expression of indifference made him realize that she was as good at hiding her true feelings as he was, if not more so. She didn't not seem bothered by this impending betrothal, though there was no way she could _not_ be. She'd heard the truth after all.

They both turned to him then, and it was clear neither had forgotten he was there. So he was grateful then, of the sudden tap on the door, as they looked away. He used the moment to lift himself off the ground, as Lady Sansa went to answer and King Jon let him stand. He dabbed at his neck with the sleeve of his tunic, a long sliver of blood stained the fabric, but it seemed the scratch was not deep enough for concern.

He was not surprised when he saw that it was the Queen who stood on the other side, her expression distinctly cool and collected though he could feel the undercurrent of distress in her forcefulness.

"Lord Jaime, Lady Sansa, I had not expected to find you here," She said as she entered the room, sparing each a moment's glance before she set her eyes on the King.

Lady Sansa closed the door behind her, and moved to stand across from him though her eyes were planted firmly on the interaction between her brother and Queen Daenerys.

"Jon, I had hoped to have a word."

The King remained silent for a few moments, and Jaime noticed that he was the only one in the room who did not hide behind a mask. His expression was dark and affected, his feelings were clear.

A few moments passed before he finally answered, his voice detached, "So speak."

She glanced at them, him and Lady Sansa, "Alone, if you would—"

"We will speak now, the four of us, or we will not speak at all," He interrupted, and Jaime knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

With a tight nod, she continued, "I know it is a lot what I ask. I should not have kept it hidden, I am sorry for it. But I must ask, for the good of our people. If all the kingdoms are truly united, there can be lasting peace, once and for all. That is all I seek."

"All of us under your thumb, you mean," He answered angrily.

She took a deep breath, and suddenly her hesitation was gone.

 _This is going to be downright ugly_ , Jaime thought then, steeling himself.

"Do you really think it is my wish to marry your sister to a Lannister, simply so that I may rule? I am a Targaryen and the Mad Queen's daughter, but I did not come to conquer Westeros, I came to free the innocent. As I freed the slaves of Essos, to break the wheel that crushes them, _without_ bloodshed."

Then, as quickly as her temper flared, so did it suddenly subside.

"It was wrong of me to think I could demand such a thing when I have been sold into marriage. But I ask, for the good of all our people."

Her honesty still did not sway him as he finally spoke, "If I refuse, you will as well, will you not?"

Jaime wasn't sure what the King meant, he glanced at Sansa to see that she looked confused as well, but the Queen seemed to understand.

"No Jon. This war is as much mine as yours. My men, my dragons, we will will fight together no matter what Lady Sansa and _you_ decide."

As the silence held, Jaime chanced a look at the King, and noticed that something she said had finally pierced through, but it was Lady Sansa who eventually spoke.

"What of Winterfell?"

"Your brother will remain here until we defeat the Night King."

"But after? You will whisk him to the South, and what will happen to the North? There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

The room stilled, as all eyes turned to the Queen. When she did not immediately answer, Jaime wondered if after everything, she had not thought of a solution to that problem.

"Give Casterly Rock to my brother, I never wanted it anyway," He said after a moment.

They turned to him then, each with their own distinct expression. Jon's was nothing short of contempt, as if he thought that that didn't solve anything. Queen Daenerys seemed to consider it a viable option. As for Lady Sansa, there was a brief flicker of curiosity, then it was gone.

It was Queen Daenerys who answered him, "That can be easily done, if it is her wish."

"And yet their children will still be half Lannister. Is the North to suffer Lannister rule after all?"

As he spoke, Jaime recognized the expression of Targaryen fury cross Queen Daenerys' face.

"How can there be animosity between Lannister men and Northerners if their liege lords share a child? I only wish to create a _new_ future, a better one, for us all."

At this Sansa turned to her brother.

"No one has suffered more at the hands of House Lannister than I, but the ones who hurt us are gone. Tyrion was always kind to me, Jon and Ser Jaime sent me Brienne. I would not be here, if not for her. For the sake of the promise I made to her, and so more will not suffer as I did—"

She paused, her eyes finding his.

"I will marry Ser Jaime."

Before anyone could react, she turned to leave, gesturing for him to follow her out, leaving the King and Queen to speak alone.

"You never took that stroll did you Ser Jaime?" She asked once they were alone.

He kept his eyes forward, not looking at her as she walked beside him."I did not get a chance, no," He answered awkwardly.

"Would you care to now?"

He turned to her, caught by the invitation, though her expression gave nothing away.

"You look like you could use the fresh air," She continued, offering as explanation. "But perhaps just through the Godswood."

Though she was right, he wondered if that was truly her motivation behind the offer. Just as he'd been tempted to accept, he shook his head, knowing instinctively it would be wrong for him to tread his Lannister boots on such hallowed Stark grounds.

"Perhaps another time, Lady Sansa. If you'll excuse me."

He bowed without looking at her, and didn't turn back when he heard her call his name.

 **ø**

Still hiding in his rooms, it was hours later when there was a knock at his door. He felt a pit in his stomach as his squire went to answer the door, but sighed in relief when he saw that it was Queen Daenerys who followed him into the room.

They were not friends, but in this place far in the North, aside from Bronn she was the closest he had. And there was enough straightforwardness in her way of speaking that at least he did not have to decipher her meaning.

She did not waste time, "King Jon has agreed to think on your betrothal. In the meantime, he has asked you keep your contact with her minimal, though he will allow you to escort Lady Sansa on the day of our wedding."

He was surprised King Jon had not broken off their own engagement, and briefly wondered what had made him change his mind. He said nothing though, and nodded.

"Yes your grace."

* * *

a/n: I'll be retitling this part of my series (when I posted I wasn't sure what to title part 1), to 'The Fullness Of Time'.

Thanks for reading, reviewing and following my fic.


	31. The Definition Of Love

Sorry for the delay guys, who knew writer's block was really a thing? Not my best work, but I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _My love is of a birth as rare… begotten by Despair upon Impossibility.  
_ _Magnanimous Despair alone could show me so divine a thing,  
_ _Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown but vainly flapped its tinsel wing._

 _And yet I quickly might arrive where my extended soul is fixt,  
But Fate does iron wedges drive, and always crowds itself betwixt. _

_from The Definition of Love by Andrew Marvell_

 **Jon**

❄️

He vaguely heard his sister and Lord Jaime leave, and though he'd hardly voiced his concerns, he let them go.

They had not been alone together, not since that day in the Godswood, it even felt as if it was the first in as much time, that he'd looked her in the eye. His feelings were torn, in one regard he understood her motives, even Sansa's quick acceptance, but her omission, and the idea of a Lannister marrying his sister filled him with rage, and though he was prepared to forget the first, he was not ready to accept the last.

"I should have spoken of it the first day we met, I hope you can forgive my foolishness," She said finally, her eyes soft and remorseful.

She lifted her arms then, as if she meant to touch him, but her hands found each other instead, her fingers lacing for a moment before she let them fall once more.

"I know it is a difficult thing I ask. But my men and my children, and I- _we_ , are with the North in the coming war, no matter what you decide, on both counts. Though I hope you will at least take some time to consider what I ask, for the good of the realm."

He exhaled, feeling himself fume once more.

"It is only for the realm that we are still discussing it," He answered, barely containing the exasperation he felt, and turned away from her before it got the better of him.

A few seconds passed before she spoke.

"Ser Jaime has made many mistakes for the sake of his family, decisions that I have suffered the consequences of as well. I would be lying if I said I had never wished him dead, and yet, I could not do it. How else are we to heal the damage we have both suffered and caused? Or wipe away the blood we have each spilt? Or protect the innocent from suffering for our feuds and wars? It will take more than a few pretty words and bent knees to truly bring our kingdoms together. But all our pain and suffering, all our sacrifice, will it not be worth it in the end? When there is peace, true peace, throughout the kingdoms?"

He said nothing to her words, but he finally let himself look at her again. Her deeply affected expression was the last thing he expected to see, and though he was sure he'd never be convinced, he agreed at least to the time.

"I will think on it," He answered after a long moment.

She let out a soft a breath, "Thank you."

"Until I do, I should like them to keep their distance, my people are still adjusting to the Lannister's presence, I do not wish for rumours to spread."

She didn't move at first, waiting to see if he would add anything else, but he had nothing to say. When she seemed to realize it, she dipped her head her eyes locking on his before she turned to leave.

She had almost reached the door when he spoke, despite himself.

"Daenerys," It was the first time he'd ever spoken her name like that, without title, he half expected her to be upset by it.

Instead, she looked back at him, her expression hopeful, despite her attempt to hide it.

"Yes Jon?"

 _I must be a bloody fool,_ he thought to himself.

"As for our union- I have no wish to break it."

She turned fully to him once more, and took a step forward, "Truly?"

He felt his lips tilt up at her expression, despite the fact that he was still upset with her.

He returned the step she took, "As long as that is all. Is there anything else I should know?"

At this, her expression faltered, and her eyes turned glassy.

"I will never bear a child," She spoke suddenly, her voice faint, as if it was something she was facing herself in this very moment.

He stilled, unsure how to take such news. He was not angry of course, such a burden would not be easy to share with anyone, let alone the man she intended to marry, who was still a stranger to her, and she to him, in many ways.

"I never intended to keep it a secret, I was going to tell you, only—"

As she hesitated he closed the distance between them, touching her for the first time in weeks as he laid a hand to her shoulder. She looked at the contact before finally looking up at him, her eyes still heavy with her revelation.

She opened her mouth then, but he spoke first, his voice gentle, "I understand."

His arm lingered for a moment before he let it drop once more.

"I must ask though, what makes you believe that?"

She turned away from him then, and he only waited for her to answer.

"I was still young and naive, and I felt like a prisoner myself, and I thought if I saved her, perhaps someday I could be saved too, only she did not want salvation. She wanted revenge, and blood and so she took my husband, and my unborn son, and promised I would never have another."

Though he understood that this admission had clearly taken a great effort for her to share, he did not share her gravity.

"But she is dead, and here you stand, was that part of her curse as well?"

She turned towards him then, her expression hopeful once more as she glanced at him for a moment. He felt his lips go up before her arms wrapped around his waist, but as quickly as she squeezed him, she let go.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

 _Bloody fool indeed,_ he thought again as he interrupted her, hooking an arm around her waist as he pressed his lips against hers without hesitation.

O _r possibly a man in love._

❄️

With no surprise, Theon Greyjoy was the second to arrive, and Jon suddenly remembered he had greater problems than Ser Jaime. He'd once considered the ward of Winterfell a friend, perhaps even a brother (though he'd never say either out loud), and his betrayal pierced deeper than even Lord Jaime's.

The North had not forgotten either, that much was clear, and it was only because of what he'd done for Sansa, that Jon accepted his presence, and prevented the Northern Lords from taking his head. Though he could do nothing of their animosity at his arrival.

He'd reluctantly gone to the yard to receive him, standing between his sister and Queen Daenerys. He was confused by the Lannister knight's presence, though only momentarily, as he remembered that they had fought together in Pyke.

By the uncertainty in his eyes and the fear that coloured his steps, it did not take Jon long to realize that the Theon he'd once known, arrogant and bold, was gone. In his place stood a man broken.

Unable to avoid it, he turned to look at Sansa, suddenly understanding the depth of what she'd survived. She returned the look, though it was clear she knew what he was thinking and was not pleased by his realization.

He felt his ire dissipate in the wave of this knowledge, and suddenly found himself unable to haul this broken man over the coals, though that hardly meant he'd forgiven him, only that he accepted his presence with a sad kind of regret instead.

That night he dreamt of his brother for the second time, though he never saw his face. It was a black raven with three eyes who led him down to the crypts, but somehow, he knew it was Bran. When he reached the depths, the torch in his hand flickered, and went out, leaving him in darkness. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, but then the flame was back, and suddenly, he was on the wall, looking out beyond at the dark.

Then again, the flame went out and came back, and then he was beyond the Wall, at the Fist of the First Men. Over and over, the torch burned and waned, places he'd been to passing before his eyes, but never settling on one. He woke just after Winterfell came into view, though it was likely the continuous flashing that disturbed his sleep.

It was only the first of many restless nights. He told no one of his dreams, unsure they actually meant anything. They were disjointed and nonsensical, though most nights they began the same, him journeying down to the crypts. They would shift from there, flickering like the flame of a candle in and out of places at first, then moments in his own life. He saw himself kneeling in front of the Heart tree swearing his vows; burning the wight who'd tried to kill Commander Mormont, and even saw himself storm Craster's Keep.

But it was the night before the Sand Snakes of Dorne arrived, the last of the high Ladies meant to attend his and Daenerys' wedding, that his dreams finally took shape, in such a way that he finally understood their meaning.

This time the dream did not begin as usual, instead he prowled through the woods, the ground covered in heavy snow, he could feel it brush his arms, underbelly and legs, but he was not cold. When he stopped to howl at the moon, somewhere in the distance a raven cawed in response.

He moved forward slowly, wary, realizing he was in the godswood when he finally saw it, perched on the branch of the weirwood tree, its melancholy eyes seeming to stare at him just as the raven's three.

His eyes locked onto the unusual creature, until suddenly it took off, and then he was flying too, but he did not feel the chill of the air as he left Winterfell behind.

As he soared over the snowy landscape, he knew he headed North even before the long line of ice came into view. As he passed over, another line appeared, running parallel to the grey-white Wall, though dark as night, the tones of white snow disturbed by black dots of different sizes. He knew what they were of course, and though there were so many the snow almost disappeared underneath them, it was the shattering sound that startled him, so loud he thought it would burst his eardrums, and a rumbling so intense he felt it though he did not touch the ground.

The wall was crumbling beneath him, large chunks shattering like glass, but it was the blue of his eyes, like ice and frost and death, that woke him.

 _The Night King._

He was drenched in sweat when he woke, though the fire in his hearth had long since burnt out. He threw off his furs but didn't get out of bed, instead he lied there, staring up at the ceiling of his cold dark room, his skin burning but feeling chilled to the very bone.

He suddenly felt very stupid; he wasn't sure when it had happened, nor how, but he'd forgotten the true enemy, the only enemy, in the political dealings of being a King. His feelings towards those who'd wronged his family might never change, but for now he needed them, every able body, to fight the coming war.

Yet when he felt a deep pang as he thought of his sister, he could not reconcile her fate. She might rule the north, but to force a marriage of alliance on her filled him with shame, regardless that he'd done it to himself. He was not sure what he felt for Daenerys, but it was more than just lust and passion, it had grown into more, that he was sure of. As for Sansa, what could possibly bloom between her and a Lannister?

But he knew, in his heart, that he had to accept, though not for the Queen's reasons, he understood them but he could not see beyond the long night. If they were going to survive, they had to do it together, and that included house Lannister and Greyjoy as well.

Still, he said nothing of his thoughts when he saw her that morning, nor as they discussed the final details of their wedding.

"Jon, is everything all right?" She asked then, her hand over his stilling his thoughts.

He looked over to her, and smiled, turning his palm up so their fingers laced. He would never tire of the feeling of her skin against his, even such a small touch as her hand.

"Yes," He answered, and it was not a lie, at least not entirely.

Her furrow of worry nearly disappeared as her lips went up, though it was still there, hidden deep in her expression. They had not spoken once about his sister's betrothal since the night the Kingslayer arrived, and though she did a good job of hiding it most days, he knew it was almost always on her mind just as it was on his.

"Just thinking how everyone will fit into the Godswood," He added, hoping to divert the conversation away from what was still unsaid.

It seemed to work as she replied,"Perhaps only the High Lords and Ladies ought to attend, and the Northern Lords of course."

"Aye, I think that would be best."

Her thumb rubbed idly along his as she spoke, "Have you decided who you will name as Lord of the Stormlands?"

He had of course, and Jon knew the time had come to tell her, though he had not spoken with the man in question just yet, it seemed the best course of action if she heard it from him first, and now that they were alone.

"I have. You've met him of course, Gendry Rivers."

He waited to see if she would react to his bastard roots, but she did not.

"In truth he's a Waters, only when he arrived, Cersei still ruled the south, and I did not think the surname would serve him well in the North."

She smirked, "Sensible."

He wasn't sure how she would react but he knew he had to tell her. He glanced at their still intertwined hands for a moment.

"I did not know, when he arrived, though Sansa suspected, but I have come to learn that he— He is the bastard son of Robert Baratheon."

Her smile faltered, and her hand stilled, but he took it as a good sign when she did not let go.

She said nothing at first, and neither did he, allowing her a moment to adjust to this information. He knew what the King had done to her family, but Gendry was not blame, just as she was not to blame for the crimes of her father. Then suddenly, she finally did release him as she stood.

With her back to him she finally replied, her tone carefully controlled but not upset though she attempted to sound casual, "Will he remain a Rivers, or will you make him a Storm?"

"I had not considered it," He answered truthfully.

"Do you wish to make him a Baratheon?" She asked then finally turning, her voice not entirely steady.

It suddenly occurred to him, where her tension had come from, realizing himself what the son of a Baratheon could mean for her. Wanting to assuage her worry he stood and approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist when he reached her, pulling her close.

"I had not thought on that either, but he is the only one I would think to place there. I know what you fear, but he is not his father's son. I do not think he's ever intended on making any such claim on the Stormlands, so i'm not entirely sure he will even accept. But he might be the last of his family's blood, it seems only right it be him, but I leave the decision to you."

She had relaxed almost as soon as he held her, and though he could tell she was not entirely convinced, she said nothing only wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him down for a kiss. Her mouth parted easily, their tongues intertwining just as their hands had. She nipped at his lip before pulling away.

"I gave the Stormlands to you as a gift. Whomever you choose, I accept. I trust your decision Jon. As for his name, considering he has changed it twice already, perhaps we might let him decide. "

It was not the reaction he'd been expecting; and he couldn't help but feel touched by her trust, knowing she had to still be worried by what could come from making Gendry a Baratheon.

"As you wish," He said, before pressing his lips to hers once more.

❄️

The following days passed in rapid succession; a combination of tedious and necessary tasks occupied his time, and Queen Daenerys' as well, they hardly had a moment to themselves, let alone. Their stolen kisses in his solar felt long past, and much overdue.

But finally, it was the night before the date, and though the keep was brimming, he managed to escort her to her chambers on his own. Her guards had not yet arrived, and so it was still just the two of them.

He knew it was time to tell her, he wasn't sure what he expected of their wedding, only he did not want anything to hang over the start of it. He stole a kiss first though, chaste and sweet, as their first ought to have been, before he spoke.

"I will give my consent, if Sansa is truly sure it is what she wants. But if he hurts her, brings her dishonour in any way, I _will_ kill him," His voice was dark with promise, and he hoped she did not doubt him.

Her eyes bore into his as she answered, "I would expect no less."

And then her lips on his, her kiss fierce and determined, her hands raked through his hair as she pressed her body against his. His tongue melded easily with hers, allowing his arms to wrap around her waist so he could pull her flush against him. After a moment, he pulled away, knowing he'd drown in her right then and there if he didn't. Her brow furrowed, confused.

"Only one more night," He said then, smirking at her devilishly.

Still holding her, he planted his lips on hers once, soft and light, then one on her nose before he pulled away.

He realized suddenly, that he did know what he wanted for their wedding. He wanted to do it right, like his father before him.

He took her hand in his once more, and bowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. When his eyes found hers again he smiled warmly, seeing his actions had had the effect he'd hoped for.

"Until tomorrow."

He left her then, blushing, just as her guard of Unsullied arrived.

That night as he lay to sleep, for the first in a long time, he felt light of heart and excited for tomorrow. He should have known it wasn't meant to last.

He dreamt of the crypts, descending down into the darkness as he always did. This time however, dark turned to light, and cold to hot, as suddenly he was no longer in the north, for he'd never seen such a place with his own two eyes.

Aside from the sky which went on unimpeded by tree and hill, the ground hard and barren beneath his feet. It was then that he heard it, a woman's scream, pierced with pain, he could not but run.

Suddenly bodies were strewn before him, a man tended to a wound in his stomach, another turned as if he'd heard his name called, and Jon's gut twisted as he recognized the face, though he was years younger than he'd ever known him.

 _Father_.

Ned Stark did not see him though, and turned once more, racing up steps and away. Jon could do nothing but follow.

He entered the room, expecting anything but what he saw.

Blood. So much blood. A young woman, who reminded him a little of his sister Arya, dying and begging for a promise, and a child being placed into his father's arms. He woke then, her words echoing in his skull even as the dream faded into the depths of his mind.

' _You know nothing_ ', Ygritte had told him long ago, and though he'd always wanted to dispute her, deep down he knew she was right. And he'd hated it, feeling like a green summer child, never knowing if he was making the right choice.

But now… Now he knew the truth, and suddenly found himself longing for ignorance.

* * *

a/n: In case it wasn't clear enough: Jon just found out the truth about his parents.

So I just wanted to say a few things: This is still a work in progress in many ways, and sometimes it feels as if I bit off more than i can chew, so although i'm trying to stay close to the show's continuity (up until season 6), for the sake of my story and my pairings, some things will happen here that aren't likely to happen elsewhere. I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve, all is not as it seems, consider this a warning.

Also, when I outlined this, I hadn't entirely thought of Bran, his whole arc is a big question mark for me still, but i've worked something out regarding his role here, as best I could anyway.

I hope the next chapter won't take as long as this one did, and thanks for reading!


	32. Broadway

_Kinda lost inspiration with this, so I mostly tried to have fun here, alot of things are probably not strictly canon compliant, or likely to ever happen, but, well not writing this for the accuracy so… just go with it. Thanks for reading._

* * *

 _This is the quiet hour… Gathered in their crowds, and steadily  
The million lights blaze on for few to see, robbing the sky of stars that should be hers._

 _A woman waits… A somber man drifts by, and only we  
Pass up the street unwearied, warm and free, for over us the olden magic stirs._

 _Beneath the liquid splendor of the lights we live a little ere the charm is spent;  
This night is ours, of all the golden nights, the pavement an enchanted palace floor…_

 _from Broadway by Sara Teasdale_

 **Sansa**

§

She was not exactly sure why she'd accepted at first. Of course she knew the reasons she'd told herself, for the good of their people, for the realm, for her brother. Jon cared for the Queen that much she knew, and this issue had come close to breaking their still fragile alliance. Like it or not, they needed her, though Sansa wondered if it was her duty to give her happiness for his. Then she remembered, she did not believe in such dreams, of happy endings.

She knew notions such as love and honour, and all the things written about in song, were but a figment, to distract from the true nature of the world. Ser Jaime presented the same conundrum.

On the surface, he embodied these same ideals: a knight and beloved now (at least in the south), still handsome and strong, yet these things belied the darker truths to him, some that hit too close to home for comfort. Although she knew she'd never come to love him, she could not deny she rather liked the illusion he presented. In some small way, her girlish dreams would come true, and if she never found happiness, at least she'd have that.

And that was only if he survived the long night, if they all did.

She was not entirely surprised she saw very little of him in the days leading up to her brother's wedding. As her family home filled with both familiar and unfamiliar faces, as Lady of Winterfell and sister to the King, she was often busy receiving them, as well as handling the daily affairs of the castle and its people. She had the sneaking suspicion her brother had requested he keep his distance, or perhaps it was the clear regard the Northerners had for him, that inspired him to remain out of view.

This was the case with Theon after he'd arrived, whose reception had been even more difficult than the Lannister's, though she did not have to guess, she knew he kept himself hidden away, just not where exactly. He was as familiar with the castle as she after all.

The most interesting guest had been Lady Olenna of course, who was lacking her usual sharp tongue, though Sansa noted, only with her. The Lady had to know that she knew the truth about what had happened to Joffrey, and she had to have heard by now, what had happened to Littlefinger. Neither said anything about it of course, though it loomed over them as they spoke, but they found a measure of trust through Margaery's loss, and Sansa understood Olenna action's after all, to protect her granddaughter. Just as her mother had once tried to protect her, by setting free a Kingslayer.

Her Uncle arrived before her cousin did, which she was glad of in the end, as she got to spend some time with him and his family. Robin took a shining to their uncle almost immediately, and kept to his side. She was glad of it, her cousin needed a male influence, and though Edmure had made many mistakes, he seemed to have learned from them, or was trying to, and she knew there would be no one better save for her own brother, to help him become a better sort of man than he might be.

The Sand Snakes had been the last to arrive, and she was not sure how she'd felt about them, they were beautiful and strong, but untamed, and she knew the Queen likely worked very hard to keep them on their best behaviour. Their presence could not help remind her of Myrcella, who'd died while under their protection, as had been said, and she couldn't help but wonder if they'd played a part in her death, which in turn made her wonder if she could trust them. She remembered it'd been said that Prince Oberyn coated his blades with poison.

The southerners were all fond of poisons it seemed.

It was after Jon had informed her that he'd escort her to the wedding that she finally ran into him, purely by chance. She'd gone to the yard to find Podrick, she wanted him to accompany her to Wintertown, and knew he'd be there, only she was surprised to find Lord Bronn standing at the side, and Ser Jaime training with her former knight's squire. They stopped, both bowing once she approached, she faintly noticed Bronn approach and follow their movements.

"Ser Jaime, Lord Bronn, Podrick," She said formally, dipping her head slightly, though smiled slightly at the last.

"Lady Sansa," Pod and Ser Jaime both replied, almost in a chorus. Bronn said nothing, and she was not offended.

Her eyes found her intended for a moment and she hesitated. She suddenly felt strange asking for Pod's company in front of her soon-to-be spouse and her former husband's sworn sword. She knew Lord Bronn, somewhat at least, and was sure her words were bound to set his own afire with insinuation.

They all three seemed to stare fixedly at her waiting for her to speak and without much other choice, she only hoped he would have the decency to wait until she left to share his vulgarity.

"I did not expect to find you both here, I apologize for the interruption," She said then, not forgetting her courtesies.

"No apologies needed Lady Sansa, this is your home after all," Lord Jaime replied, his voice with the same careful consideration.

She wasn't sure if he meant anything by his words but said nothing, only turned to Podrick, her hesitation finally gone.

"Pod," She addressed him directly, "After you are finished of course, I was hoping you'd escort me to Wintertown, there are a few things I need."

"Of course, my lady," he answered dutifully.

It was not strictly the truth, she mostly wanted to get away for a little while, and go for a ride. She was not truly worried of course, that anything would happen, still she found she could not ignore the little voice in her head that insisted it would be much safer she take someone she trusted with her.

She was about to leave when Lord Bronn spoke, "I think we're done for today, milady. Podrick isn't much by the way of company, and I've not see this town, i'm sure Lord Jaime neither, perhaps you would allow us to accompany you Lady Sansa?"

Her expression did not belie her reaction, though there was something she had long since been meaning to ask the man she had somehow accepted, their company was the opposite of what she wanted. By Lord Bronn's expression, and the smirk he was not trying too hard to conceal, she knew he had some scheme afoot, of which she and surely Ser Jaime were the targets. She briefly wondered if he knew of the Queen's intentions.

"Safety in numbers after all," he added after a moment, his mouth finally straightening.

She intended to tell him it was not about numbers, but about the quality of person at one's side, when Ser Jaime spoke again.

"I'm sure the lady would be grateful for a moment to herself, she is surrounded by southerners as it is."

She looked at him surprised by his intuition, though he was not looking at her but at Lord Bronn, his face hard, as if escorting her was the last thing in the world he wanted. It was likely this, that made her speak, in part at least.

"Of course you are welcome, though I cannot promise there is much to see. Once, the town thrived but we are in different times now, and hastily preparing for a winter that's already come."

Lord Bronn finally had nothing clever to say, but it seemed Ser Jaime meant to save the day, or at least his friend from his big mouth.

"I'm sure neither of us has seen what true hard work and camaraderie look like my lady, no doubt we will be heartily impressed."

She almost smiled at this, until she remembered they were about to escort her, three southerners, on what was supposed to be a moment to herself.

"I will fetch the horses my lady," Pod said then, in the absence of her immediate reply and sheathed his sword.

"I'll help the boy," Bronn added, managing to keep his face straight, following Podrick before either could refute him.

Suddenly they were alone and Ser Jaime could not meet her eyes.

"Shall we head to the East Gate?" She said then, knowing it would be better to be moving than standing in the same spot, and that their walk together would be much easier to explain should Jon catch word of it.

He nodded solemnly, but did not move until she did, carefully keeping himself a safe distance away from her, far enough away it might almost seem as if he was not indeed walking with her. The tension of this carried over and they did not speak, not until they reached their destination, though they stopped before reaching the gate itself, and neither Bronn nor Podrick appeared.

She thought of asking him how he was enjoying his time in the North, but then immediately realized how stupid a question it was and settled for a lead-in towards her own curiosity instead.

"Do you miss Casterly Rock Ser Jaime?" She asked, keeping her voice casual.

He turned to look at her because he hadn't been, and he seemed wistful suddenly.

"In a way, yes I do," He answered simply, his earlier expression gone just as quickly.

Sansa wondered if it was because it reminded him of _her_ , the Queen who'd tormented her, and just like that everything had become complicated in a way she had not considered.

"Not because it is my ancestral home, but because I've recently found peace there, or at least some semblance of it."

"And yet you are so ready to give it up, might I inquire why?"

"I think you know as well as I my lady, that peace does not always live up to its name."

She looked at him strangely, his words finally breaking through her carefully constructed mask, but said nothing as Lord Bronn and Podrick appeared in that moment.

After Pod gave Ser Jaime his cloak, they left, only the guard noting their departure. Thankfully they rode mostly in silence and encountered no one, though she did tell them a little about Wintertown when they arrived.

She had not truly planned on coming here after all, but she did still need a few things for the dress she was making for her brother's wedding, and the fur for the cloak she was making for Queen Daenerys. They had agreed to skip the cloaking, and instead Sansa offered to make one, in Northern style, for her to wear to the ceremony.

So she led them to the small market, where Bronn took off on his own, leaving Ser Jaime and Podrick trailing behind her as she looked. Unsurprisingly, she was well recognized, and she spent half her time greeting those who'd approached her, though she didn't mind.

It was in a rare moment alone that he spoke to her, "Perhaps you might let us help you find what you seek, otherwise i'm not sure you'll find it today my lady."

Because his concerns weren't entirely unfounded she relented, "A fur for Queen Daenerys, for a cloak."

She'd found everything else, but could not seem to find one that would suit her brother's soon to be wife.

"I see," He answered, a smirk hinted at his lips.

Strange that in the end, he'd been the one to find it, perhaps because as a Lannister he understood the need for flare, in any case it was perfect. Dark grey near black but not, the tips lighter so it almost had a white sheen to it.

As they made their way back to their horses, she sent Podrick to find Lord Bronn. Luckily they did not have to wait long, both mounting before they reached them. There was a devilish glint in the older man's eyes, and she knew nothing good was going to come from it.

"Lady Sansa, apologies for my disappearance, it seems there is much to see after all. There's a quaint tavern i've just found, if it's not too much trouble, might you allow Podrick to serve as my company?"

His request seemed innocent enough, only when he glanced over at his friend, the opposite was suddenly evident as he spoke, "As long as Ser Jaime will not mind escorting you back to Winterfell?"

The aforementioned tensed, and she could not help the sigh. _Men_ , she thought irritated.

"Yes alright," She answered before the Lannister did, deciding she didn't need his escort in any case. Besides, if they were to be married, she ought to get used to being alone with him.

"Do not forget you will be needed in the morning Podrick," She added though, knowing nothing good would come from whatever the once sellsword had planned for their evening.

"Of course my Lady," Pod bowed nervously.

Then she spurred her horse on, without so much as a glance at the other two. Once she reached the outskirts of the town, she gripped the reigns tighter and pressed her mare to move faster, knowing she would not get the lengthy ride she'd hoped for, at least she would feel the wind in her hair, and she was alone, at least for a time, as she soon felt Ser Jaime's stead galloping behind her, though he never quite caught up with her.

She slowed her horse to a trot before they reached Winterfell, and finally he fell in at her side.

After a long moment he finally spoke, "I've never had great love for Casterly Rock. I grew up there of course, but I spent little time in the castle after I left it, until recently."

She was about to look at him but stilled when he continued, "There is still time Lady Sansa, to back out, your brother would surely support your decision."

If he truly believed this then he knew nothing.

She finally did turn to him then, and only remained silent caught by his expression. Eyes desperate, as if this was his last chance, and her his last hope, at putting an end to it all, and she wondered how he could not see that it was not so simple. Suddenly feeling frustrated at his ignorance she frowned, and let out a deep breath, though it was more grumble than sigh, before she turned away once more and spurred her mare forward deciding it was not her responsibility to make him understand.

If she was a slow learner, she wondered what that made him.

 **§**

Her handmaiden had done an excellent job on her hair, small intricate braids woven together held it back, so it cascaded in waves down her back. The dress she'd made herself, in a rich dark blue well suited to her complexion. It was fairly modest though the neck was wide so the skin between her neck and shoulders showed, but in the end she wore a sheer fine silk scarf to cover the exposed skin.

She held the pearls gifted from the Queen to her neck, and decided she rather liked the effect they gave; the transparency of the silk thread made the pearls look as if they floated midair, so she unknotted it and had her handmaiden retie it. She chose her warmest cloak, it was made of a heavy wool in a dark grey, with a thick fur collar, and wore leather gloves.

As she'd been getting ready she sipped on an Arbour wine to settle her nerves. She could picture their faces in her mind, her uncle's in particular, when they saw her at Ser Jaime's side, could imagine the heavy looks shot their way, and she knew it was going to be a long night.

By the time she left her chambers, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol or the nerves in her stomach, she was not sure which, she'd come to the decision that she was going to attempt to enjoy this evening for what it was meant to be, regardless of the Lannister escorting her, and the scorn that would surely follow his every move.

He was already waiting when she reached the front hall of the great keep. He was dressed complete in Lannister colours and black armour, his cloak a dark crimson with golden detailing.

"Lady Sansa," He said when she reached him, his voice low, after he bowed his eyes finally found hers.

"Ser Jaime," She kept her voice steady.

He might be years older than her, and a Lannister, but he was still handsome, denying it would be a lie. Of course she knew looks were deceiving, but there was something in his gaze, something broken and achingly familiar, she was grateful when she realized she did not see Cersei nor her son in his eyes.

He hesitated a moment before he cleared his throat and spoke, "Shall we?"

He did not extend the crook of his elbow rather motioned her forward with his golden hand. Perhaps it'd been their last conversation, or because there was no real reason not to, she stepped forward and took his arm, and waited for him to lead her out.

He was her escort for the evening, whether he liked it or not.

He looked down at her hand briefly before finally moving. They walked into the courtyard in silence, and she was sure Ser Jaime was relieved when Theon appeared just before they were about to enter the Godswood, as if he'd been waiting for them.

She smiled at him warmly tempted to take his arm but didn't, thinking it might push her brother over the edge, though he fell into step beside her. It was Theon who held the torch as they entered, and she could not help the memories, unbidden, flit through her mind, of another night. Another wedding.

Unconsciously her grip on Jaime's arm tightened, she only noticed when she felt his hand cover hers, the touch gentle, as if he meant to comfort her. She looked up at him, the thrashing of her heart slowing in the calm sea of his expression, and though he meant it as a kindness she tore her gaze away without a word, embarrassed he seemed to understand her thoughts. She loosened her hold on his arm but did not let go, and was grateful when he dropped his hand from hers.

They found their spot near the heart tree, and little by little, others trickled in, and though she'd already felt it, she could now see it with her own two eyes, the various tensions held between each guest and house, now that they all stood together.

As expected Ser Jaime drew the most scorn; from Lady Olenna, to her Uncle Edmure, and even Gendry, though Ser Jaime in turn tensed when the Sand Snakes entered. As for Theon, the northern lords glared daggers at him until Jon arrived.

As for her brother, she wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed earlier, but he seemed frazzled, darkness rimming his eyes as if he had not slept well in many days. He glanced at her then, his expression sorrowful, she worried at its appearance since she could not find a reason for it. He looked away quickly, as if he did not want her figuring out what had caused it and turned to Ser Davos instead.

She had long since let go of Ser Jaime's arm, but she turned to him, to see if he'd caught what she had but he was still scowling at Ellaria, though there was something mournful in his eyes. Suddenly the truth was glaringly obvious, they were guilty of Myrcella's death. She felt a momentary stab of hatred for the Sand Snakes, because despite being a Lannister Sansa had liked her. And Tommen as well.

Sansa did not have time to dwell on it though as all eyes turned, and she knew Queen Daenerys had arrived. Though her closest kin should have escorted her to the tree, she entered the Godswood as she had entered the North, alone. Jon had not refused Daenerys' request though such an entrance had never been done, not as far as Sansa knew.

She understood the reason of course, as the queen had no living family and none in attendance came close save for perhaps Missandei. She was not sure how the Northern lords would take such an entrance, but considering the old god's wedding ceremony was much simpler than that of the Faith of the Seven, she did not think it would create too much of a stir, but in any case, no one would soon forget this night.

She looked beautiful of course, with her silver hair trailing down her back, held back by intricately woven braids, and small silver bells tinkled as she walked. Her cloak was the perfect combination, creamy white wool with the dark fur trim, the grey and red of her gown peaked through as she walked. When she looked to her brother once more, his gaze was fixed on the bride to be, and even from afar, Sansa caught the warm smile that filled his face as his eyes caught hers, the worry she'd seen earlier completely gone as if it'd never been there in the first place. Daenerys had eyes for only him as well, and a matching expression on her face.

When she finally reached the Heart Tree, Ser Davos spoke first.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

And the Queen answered for herself, "Daenerys, of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. She comes to ask the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Jon stepped forward then, and came to stand across from his intended, though the grin had slipped. "Jon—" He hesitated a moment before continuing.

"Snow. King in the North, in the Trident and the Vale. Who gives her?"

Sansa wasn't entirely surprised when he didn't say 'of House Stark' as it had been agreed, and though she'd said it many times, that he was a Stark, it seemed he still didn't entirely believe it.

Daenerys gave him a quizzical look before she answered, "As the last blood of house Targaryen, I give myself."

Ser Davos was of course expecting this response and didn't hesitate, as he spoke.

"Queen Daenerys, will you take this man?"

She reached out then, before answering, and took Jon's hands in hers.

"I take this man," She said then, her eyes shining and her voice soft.

Breaking tradition for his part, Jon leaned in then, and pressed his lips to hers for a gentle kiss. Sansa smiled as she realized that though their marriage had been arranged for the good of the realm, there was true affection between them still, despite all that had happened since they met.

Then they knelt before the tree and the silence of the night filled the air for one long moment, until Jon and Daenerys finally stood, and made their way out of the godswood, hand in hand.

"Shall we, my lady?" Ser Jaime said to her then, and she finally looked away from the newlyweds and shifted her gaze to him.

He was already turned towards her, the expression on his face indecipherable though it left her wondering how long he'd been watching her. He dutifully offered the corner of his elbow, and though she took it, her expression remained serious.

Theon took to Jaime's other side instead of hers as they made their way to the Great Hall. As they walked in silence, she felt the small flutter of wonder in the pit of her stomach, if maybe her own marriage wasn't as doomed as Jaime and her brother seemed to think, though she did her best to push such nonsense out of her mind.

 **§**

As there were far too many high lords to sit comfortably and so as not to offend any of the Northern lords, Jon and Daenerys sat on the dais alone, the rest split between the tables below them.

She sat across from lady Olenna at Jaime's side, Theon unsurprisingly next to him. The Great Hall was almost brimming, and though some tensions still festered, they were at least subdued by the distance between the participants in the seating arrangements, and there was almost an air of festivity in the room.

Thankfully the meal was served promptly, leaving little time for awkward silence between her and her escort. The wine arrived shortly after, of which she drank two cups with her meal. The usual round of toasts filled the air as they ate, along with the soft distant sound of music playing from the gallery. The room had been cleared to transform it into a small dance floor, two chairs for the King and Queen, set up across from the musicians. She was glad Daenerys had requested it, since it had been ages since she last danced, and a lie if she said she wasn't eager for that part of the evening, even if it meant dancing with Ser Jaime at least once.

They did not speak much as they ate, likely as there were very few topics for them to discuss, but in any case, the silence was without tension. Ser Jaime did ask about the ceremony, and she told him that there had been a few adjustments to which he only raised his brows as a smirk played on his lips for a moment before he replied, "I see."

After the meal was cleared, and gentle murmurs filled the hall, Daenerys stood, Jon following shortly behind her. The hall quieted quickly before her brother spoke, his voice sounding slightly unsure.

"The Queen and I will now share a dance."

His new wife took his arm as if she had not noticed, and together they made their way to the gallery, the high lords and ladies, herself included, rising to follow. She turned to look at Ser Jaime, who had not yet stood, but finally did when he caught her staring down at him expectantly.

He offered his arm dutifully, and though she sensed his sudden hesitation, she decided to ignore it.

The King and Queen took the floor first, the melody soft yet bittersweet and she wasn't surprised to find her brother a fair dancer, despite having never seen him do it.

Her uncle Edmure and Roslin were the first to join, followed by Ellaria and a man of her party. There would not be much dancing among the high lords and the northern ones she knew, though Lord Glover soon joined in with his wife, for what would likely be his only dance for the night, as well as Lord Manderly with his own spouse.

She was about to move forward, knowing they too would have to take the floor, when she felt him drop her arm. Startled though she made no sign of it, she turned to him and caught by the stiff way he stood, and an unfamiliar look of uneasiness on his face, her own expression finally shifted into a confused frown.

"Ser Jaime?" She said then, her voice low.

He cleared his throat before answering, "I'd really rather not."

She could not force him of course, but she would take a turn with or without him, though before she had a chance to find a better alternative, a steady voice spoke suddenly at her other side.

"It would be an honour to be your partner Lady Sansa."

She recognized his voice of course, having known it since she was a girl, and with a deliberate disregard for Ser Jaime, turned to Lord Cerwyn. He bowed ostentatiously to which she smiled politely and offered a nod of her head.

"Would you allow me the honour Lady Sansa," He asked then, extending his hand, his body still slightly bent.

Irritated by Ser Jaime's refusal, she considered taking his hand, though every rational thought in her mind told her to refuse, knowing what the implications could mean and what Lord Cerwyn's true intentions were. Just as she opened her mouth to speak though not entirely sure what she planned on saying, though somewhere inside of her it felt like a sort of 'consequences be damned' yes, she felt Ser Jaime's hard gold hand brush the inside of her other arm before she had the chance.

When she glanced back at him, his expression both irritated and apologetic, she decided not to stir the pot, so to speak.

"After I have danced with Ser Jaime, I would be delighted Lord Cerwyn," She answered as courteously as she could muster, hoping he knew it was not personal and mostly a matter of proper decorum.

He bent his head and stepped back, but said nothing. She smiled politely before turning away.

They stepped onto the dance floor and before anyone could make a note of it, she felt her hand in his and his gold one at her waist, and they were moving in tandem with the rest.

She waited a moment before breaking the stiff silence that had followed them.

"I thought you said you'd rather not."

She turned to see Cley Cerwyn watching them with a dark expression. When she looked back at Ser Jaime, she realized he'd followed her gaze, as he too glanced at the Northern lord. His eyes found hers before he answered.

"I meant it, but you didn't really give me much choice did you?"

She had the decency not to pretend she didn't know what he meant, and said nothing. He was as much pawn as she in all this, despite the difference in their positions. They danced in that silence at first, neither looking at the other, and though she was sure he could feel her tension she felt his as well, and couldn't bring herself to care or do anything about it.

By the time the song was done, she was ready to return to the glass of wine at her table, and likely endure a painful conversation with Lady Olenna over how beautiful her Margaery looked at her own wedding. She saw Lord Glover and his wife retire, as well as a few others, when she meant to follow their lead, her arm dropping from his shoulder, she felt his own grip tighten as the music started once more.

"If you don't object, Lord Cerwyn can have the next one."

The song was much more lively than the first, and before she knew it, he was leading her forward, she decided not to contest it. She kept her gaze on the others around her, noticing Lord Manderly had not left, and Ser Davos had joined, escorting none other than the Queen's closest confident, Missandei.

She smiled at that, watching them for a few moments before she let her eyes roam, feeling her earlier tension fade away as he twirled her around the small dance floor. His right hand dug into her waist at times, and though she was sure there'd be a bruise by morning, it wasn't all bad as he was graceful and held her with strong but gentle arms.

As the song ended, the compliment slipped from her lips before she knew it.

"You're a very good dancer Ser Jaime."

She dropped her eyes away from his, and hoped her face had not betrayed her, though by the rush of heat she felt on her cheeks, she was sure it had.

"You're not bad yourself Lady Sansa," He replied, his voice playful.

She finally looked at him once more, unsurprised by the smirk playing on his lips, but said nothing. They stood near the edge of the floor and she was suddenly unsure whether to leave or stay as the music began to play.

He extended his left hand then with none of the flourish Lord Cerwyn had given her, and spoke, "Would you care to dance another?"

She said nothing, but the corners of her mouth raised slightly in what could be called a grin if one looked hard enough, and took his hand. As they moved about the room, she vaguely realized it was the first time she had directed a smile at him, even such a small thing as it was.

When the song had ended, Ser Jaime let her go, but lingered a moment.

At Ser Jaime's hushed request, she danced with Theon. He held her so lightly there were moments when she was sure he was not touching her at all. She took a turn with her Uncle after, and though it was written in his eyes, he said nothing of Ser Jaime only told her how lovely she looked, and how much she reminded him of her mother.

It was then, that Cley finally found her, and not wanting to offend the northern lords, dutifully danced with him, though excused herself after she had.

Jon had long since sat down, in the free chair next to the Queen and his new wife. The furrow had returned Sansa saw, and though it had lessened, the reason for it worried her. There was nothing she could do about it now, so she made her way back to the Hall.

Ser Jaime was not at their table, but she found his golden head quickly enough sitting at a table much closer, along with Lord Bronn, Podrick and of course Theon. She was momentarily tempted to join them but in the end decided against it, and made her way over to her seat, to her primary target, her glass of wine. Lady Olenna seemed to be berating Lord Royce and a serving girl who stood awkwardly in front of them a pitcher still in hand.

When she drew near the group as she had to in order to reach her seat, her eyes found Ser Jaime's, his expression serious, yet questioning. This was the moment of course, as all the formalities of their evening together were fulfilled, there was nothing now that forced her at his side. She was free to go as she pleased, and in that slight arch of his brow, she knew he knew it too.

it was Lord Bronn who spoke then, loud enough she knew it was directed at her, and she tore her gaze from his.

"Lady Sansa, would you perhaps do me the favour of settling a little dispute we're currently having?"

She did not reply at first, only glanced back at Lady Olenna for a moment, before deciding which the lesser of two evils.

 _Why not?_ She thought before finally making her way over, whether she was answering herself or Lord Bronn, she wasn't entirely sure.

"As long as it isn't a pissing contest, I would be happy to oblige," She answered with a smirk.

Though she knew it wasn't a tone she often used, it was clear she'd caught them all by surprise as they sat frozen for a moment staring at her. It was Lord Bronn of course, who broke the silence by laughing heartily and Podrick who followed though his voice was lower, even Theon grinned.

When she took a seat next to Ser Jaime she knew the answer had been received as his hand trembled a little when he served her a cup of wine.

Lord Bronn spoke then, "Besides we could use a lady's opinion on the matter."

"Of course," She answered, though she certainly doubted it, and took a sip of the offered wine.

 **§**

When Gendry appeared, she realized enough time had passed that her brother sent someone to find her.

"Lady Sansa, the King requests your company," He said then, shooting dark looks at everyone at the table save for herself.

"Of course," She answered, standing, surprised when she saw Ser Jaime follow her lead, though she didn't get the chance to address it as Gendry did for her.

"Just Lady Sansa," He sneered.

Ser Jaime of course, in what she was beginning to realize was the mask he hid behind, smirked playfully.

"Of course," He answered, his voice charming and courteous though there was the faint undertone of cheekiness, "It is only my wish to take her to him, I am after all, her chaperone for the evening."

 _Men_ , she wanted to sigh.

"Suit yourself," Gendry replied with a shrug, turning away.

At first she wasn't sure whether to follow his lead or not, but as he headed towards the gallery, she imagined he was so she followed him, Ser Jaime on her arm.

When they reached Jon, he stood, hardly reacting to the Lannister at her side, though he did give him one long look before turning to her.

"Sansa," He said simply, extending a hand.

He'd only said her name but she understood what he wanted, so she let Ser Jaime go and took her brother's hand.

Neither spoke at first, and she found her eyes wandering about the room as they dutifully took the floor. She saw the Queen sitting in one of the empty chairs, talking with Missandei though her eyes veered towards Jon for a moment. Sansa locked eyes for a second with Ser Davos then, and smiled warmly. Gendry stood next to him nursing a flagon of ale, looking bored.

In that moment, she and Jon switched places, and her eyes very suddenly found Ser Jaime's. She intended to smile at him, like she had with the Onion Knight, only he'd already looked away.

"You look like you are enjoying yourself," Her brother said then.

She turned to Jon once more, and though she knew why he'd said it, she answered simply, her voice composed, "I am."

He hadn't seemed to have noticed what had just happened, as he continued to speak.

"I know you've already agreed, but I want you to consider it, truly. What it will mean. Not for the realm, but for you."

He paused, turning momentarily towards his new wife before his eyes found hers again and he continued.

"You do not need to marry him. Father would have wanted you to marry for love."

Sansa smiled genuinely at him, "Father would want me to marry a good man, but he would also have accepted whomever I chose."

She glanced over at where Ser Jaime had been standing, but was nowhere to be seen. Somehow she was not surprised by his sudden departure, and she turned to her brother once more.

Her first husband had been a good man but forced on her. The second she'd consented to, but he'd been a monster, she still had the scars to prove it.

"In this case, Ser Jaime is both. A good man, _and_ my choice," And though she had mostly said the words for Jon's benefit, she knew them to be true.

When the dance was done she excused herself, barely noticing Queen Daenerys approach Jon taking her place, and finally left the dance floor. Fairly certain he was no longer in the gallery, she turned to look for Ser Jaime only to find him standing before her again.

This time, she gave her hand before he extended his.


	33. Snow

I hate that this is becoming a thing, but sorry for the delay. I'm trying tho!

Warning: angst angst angst. In fact, I oughta say that's mostly what I write (If you couldn't tell), as well as drama and poetic irony and probably too many metaphors. So just to put it out there, the road ahead for Jon and Daenerys will not be an easy one. Hence the disclaimer.

It all serves a purpose, I promise!

ps. I sorta breezed through the end in an effort to get this posted, sorry bout that.

* * *

 _The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was spawning snow and pink roses against it  
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible: world is suddener than we fancy it.  
World is crazier and more of it than we think, incorrigibly plural...  
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -  
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -  
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses._

 _from Snow by Louis MacNeice_

 **Jon**

❄️

Jon was certain of little in life, that much had always been true, but he at least understood himself. He'd moulded that person after Eddard—who was still his father and yet he was not— so he'd trusted himself, his instincts, for the most part. Now, if someone asked him who he was, he wouldn't be able to answer with any amount of certainty. He could not even say his own name without stuttering to figure out what exactly it was.

He'd never felt like this before, as if he were being pulled at in so many directions, his own mind and heart at war, so bent out of shape he could no longer discern the right choice, decision, or thought from the wrong one.

He cared for Daenerys, deeply, maybe loved her even. He'd been fairly sure of it not too long ago, but that something that burned under his skin when she was around, thinking now, was that his Targaryen blood calling out to hers, or his own?

He'd gone ahead with his marriage for many reasons, none he could explain even to himself properly, especially since he'd dreamt of it many moons before he'd met her, and it had been Bran, who'd shown him. Yet, it had been his brother too, who'd shown him the truth of his birth.

There was only one thing in all of it, in which he could not bring himself to feel regret. In fact, much the opposite, because despite finding out his true father had beed a Targaryen, he finally knew who his mother was. She had never given him up, she had loved him. It was only made sweeter by the fact that she had the wolf blood of a Stark.

He knew knowledge of this would change everything, knew he had to tell someone, including his new wife, but he couldn't bring himself to share it, not yet, not until he knew himself what it meant to him.

The moment he saw her though, the jumble of his thoughts disappeared, and he lost himself in the depth of her eyes, wide and expressive, bright with something that seemed to shine only for him. It wasn't until they made their way back to the keep, and their now shared room, that he remembered what was expected of him, not that he'd forgotten truly, only the many implications and potential ramifications behind it.

It was when he closed the door behind him that he knew he couldn't. He wasn't ready to take that leap, he couldn't take that leap, not with everything clouding his judgement.

But how would he tell her that?

He wished his father were here to guide him, and it was not Rhaegar Targaryen who came to mind.

He served them each a cup of wine, her fingers skimmed his deliberately before he pulled away, and sipped at his wine to defuse some of the tension he felt.

She followed his lead, drinking it all in one fell swoop. She put the glass down on the closest surface to her.

"Come to bed Jon," She said then, her voice sultry smooth, like silk.

Then she made her own way there, and stood waiting. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. After a few moments, as he didn't move, her brow wrinkled before she spoke again.

"Something the matter Jon?"

He drank the rest of his own wine before he finally said the only words he could find.

"I can't."

Her brow furrowed, confused, but only for a moment. The look on her face then, as she spoke, he would never forget.

"I do not understand, is it something I did? I know I can be difficult, but I care for you Jon—"

He interrupted her. "It's not anything you did, just— there's too much Daenerys."

He took a deep breath, deciding he needed there to be some truth after all.

"With the High lords, and our union, south and north, my sister, the Lannister, Theon, and the northern lords, we need to focus on what truly matters right now. We need to be preparing for the Night King, and I can't—" _afford to get lost in love._

And didn't that sound maudlin like the songs Sansa used to like? Though it was the truth, at least in part, he could not say such things, this was not that world. He was not a part of such things.

"What? Can't afford distractions? Is that it?" She continued when he failed to find the right words. "Is that what I am to you?"

He heard the hurt hidden in her tone, and finally found himself enough to speak.

"I care for you Dany, too much. But the long night is coming."

And now the words wouldn't stop pouring out.

"I may have left the wall and abandoned the black, but I took an oath to protect the realm of men, and right now, that is what I need to do. Who I need to be."

She didn't say anything, but she was also not looking at him.

"After, when it is over—" This time she interrupted him.

"You will be welcome to stay and rule from the North, with its icy chill. I will not fight for it."

She turned from him then, and though it did not sound as if she were crying, he knew it would be best if he left. He made to move when she whirled on him, and suddenly she was all edges, burning with her own icy expression.

"You will not do me the discourtesy of leaving this room."

There were so many questions in his head from her earlier words, but he said nothing, only held her eyes before he stepped over to one of the chairs and sat, his back to her. After a few moments, he heard her steps and the rustling of fabric, but he never looked, instead he stared into the fire, unmoving.

❄️

Sometime later he finally stood, though he couldn't say how much time had passed. He made his way over to the table with the intention of pouring himself more wine, but when his eyes fell on the bed and where she lay, his feet unconsciously brought him closer to her though she never stirred.

She did not look peaceful in her slumber; he wanted to smooth out the wrinkle in her brow with his thumb, ease her tension away with his hands, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He was lost in the barrage of his conflicting thoughts, and the battle still waging between mind and heart—or perhaps more accurately, body. In the end it was fear that won out as she shifted in her sleep, so he stepped away, over to the table where the pitcher sat and refilled his cup.

He had never been much for wine, preferring ale, but he'd gone with the former for the occasion. He drank a cup quickly before serving himself another, and then returned to his vigil by the fire, thankful for the distraction as the blaze was beginning to wane.

Setting his cup down on the mantel, he added some more wood to the hearth, prodding for a few moments at the logs to balance out the flame. Not forgetting his wine, he returned to the chair and sat, wondering if he would ever find clarity again.

He'd finished the wine by the time her voice startled his thoughts.

"Jon?"

He turned to look at her, standing beside him in her warm woolen shift, her cheeks flushed red, and sleep still clinging to her. She was soft and warm, and gone was all the chill of their earlier conversation, almost as if it had not happened. It was disheartening since he knew it could not last, didn't know how it had even come to be.

There must have been something in his expression, as she spoke, her voice tender and gentle, a tone that could only exist in a fleeting moment such as this.

"What is wrong my love?"

He didn't know how to answer, afraid his voice would burst this tenuous moment, so when she placed a hand on his shoulder, he finally gave in, and pulled her close, his arms wrapped tightly around her and he pressed his face into her chest. He relished for a few moments in the feel of her, in the comfort she so clearly wanted to give him, until he felt her shiver.

Then suddenly, without deliberate intent his fingers were pulling at her shift, undressing her, eyes boring into hers before they found the curves of her body, just as his hands had. He pulled her into his lap, let her undress him. She stilled though, the moment she had pulled off his last layer.

The wounds on his chest had healed, but the scars were still stark against his pale skin. She trailed her fingers over them lightly, her expression dark and her brow furrowed both with anger and worry.

"How did you survive these?" She asked, finally looking at him.

"I didn't," He answered truthfully.

Oddly enough, telling her was relatively easy. He suspected it was because there were more urgent matters on his mind at present. He didn't start at his death though, that was where he ended, a vague 'A red priestess brought me back' to answer the question he knew would follow. Nor did he start at what he considered the beginning: The day he joined the watch and realized the glory he'd imagined, was of his own imagination.

He began somewhere in the middle, after he'd been made Commander, when resentment had long since been festering, but before he told the other men of his plan to bring the wildlings across the wall.

Her expression was a mixture of anger and sorrow, but the latter won out as she raked a hand through his hair and mumbled softly, "Oh Jon."

He kissed her then softly, her arms settled over his shoulders pulled him closer, likely with the intention of deepening the kiss, but he pulled back, suddenly afraid of what would happen if he let her.

It was likely the shock of hurt in her eyes that led him to speak the jumbled words he'd been holding back all this time, feeling a sudden desperate need for her to understand. Not what he knew, but what he felt.

"I want you, you don't know how much," He said, pulling her closer, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

"I want to lose myself in you, forget everything weighing on my shoulders. If we go that far—I will, and I don't know that I'll be able to come back from it."

"What does that even mean Jon?"

He couldn't tell her, not yet, so he opened his eyes and kissed her instead, knowing he shouldn't but doing it none-the-less, knowing he would likely never regret the feeling of her mouth against his, even if things ended between them.

It seemed to work, since she was kissing him back, her mouth parting easily. But then he felt her hands tugging at the ties of his trousers and he found himself pulling away. If he undressed any further, he knew what would happen, and he could not take that step, not yet. So he returned to the fireplace, and stood there, trapped by the fire he felt, not the one burning in his hearth, but in his mind and body. It was no use though, trying to find his sanity in the inferno, so he turned away, only to find her looking vulnerable and exposed and suddenly he felt the scales tip in favour of his heart.

He could not make love to her, but he could give her this—would let himself have this at least too, regardless of whatever kind of man that made him. So he went back to her and picked her up, and delivered her lightly to their bed, kissing her once fiercely before he settled her back onto the furs, and trailed his mouth down her stomach until he found the heat between her legs.

After, he fell asleep as he held her in his arms, deep and dreamless for the first time in weeks.

In the morning, he woke early, allowing himself a few moments to look down at her. Her hair was a messy halo around her, her expression relaxed, mouth slightly open. He touched her shoulder lightly, tracing his fingers down to her neck and then her hair, smoothing it back, then placed a soft kiss to her temple. She let out a soft breath, but otherwise didn't react. Reluctantly, he slid out of bed before she did wake, knowing the harsh light of day would bring it all back, everything they had let themselves—mostly—forget.

He decided not to leave the room, to wait for her to go to the hall, remembering how thoughtless it'd been of him, to even consider leaving her alone in his room, on the eve of their marriage. They'd not gone through with the bedding ceremony of course, but he knew that wouldn't stop the entire castle from knowing if he'd left his chambers. His guilt was assuaged, a little at least, in knowing that no one would doubt the legitimacy of his marriage, not with the sounds Daenerys made that night.

He was dressed and had just finished prodding at the fire when she woke. She smiled sleepily for a split moment, but then, like waking from a pleasant dream, her eyes turned to steel as she remembered.

She kept her gaze on him for a long moment before she turned away and slid out of the bed, and without covering herself walked over to the door that led out of the room and towards the place where he knew Missandei slept.

She was gone a long while, but she finally came back, dressed in her red velvet gown, her hair braided tight, the bells chiming in her hair as she approached him.

"Shall we?" She said smoothly, without emotion.

He hated the chasm he felt growing between them. "Daenerys—"

She cut him off, "You were right. We have greater matters to attend to. If there's an after, we can speak of it then."

He really did not know who he was anymore when he felt himself nod. After a few moments, he finally broke the silence.

"It's time to tell your southern lords of the night king."

"And your northern lords of your sister's betrothal to Ser Jaime," She replied, her voice sharp, but steady.

❄️

Sometime after they broke their fast, they retired to his solar, and had Missandei summon both his sister and the Lannister, both deciding it was best to inform them first. Jon thought to summon Gendry after, to speak of the Stormlands, hoping the man wouldn't object to Jon formally giving him the lands this evening as well.

Things had remained cool and detached between him and Daenerys, but she held his arm as they walked to the Great Hall, smiled during dinner at the occasional cheer for the newlyweds, and then sat beside him in his solar.

He served her a cup of wine without asking, and himself some ale as they waited. She nodded in polite gratitude, but otherwise said nothing, and hardly looked at him. He let the silence sit, unable to find anything to say, but thankfully his sister arrived, and then Ser Jaime, and the tension though still there, could be mistaken for another.

"The King and I will announce your engagement tonight," Daenerys said, not wasting any time.

Ser Jaime tensed though he tried not to show it, his sister didn't even flinch, instead she gazed at him with piercing eyes.

"After everyone has sworn fealty I presume?" Sansa said then, and though it was a question, it was clear she was not truly expecting an answer.

She likely wouldn't believe that it had been at his suggestion, and felt slightly ashamed to admit it. Daenerys did not seem to have noticed though when he told her, had only agreed.

It was her who answered cooly, "And after your brother has told my southern lords of the Night King and his army. It will be a night to remember I'm sure."

She reached for the wine and poured herself a cup, she looked around the table, her eyes landing on the Lannister, who seemed frozen stiff by the news. In the end, she poured him a cup and slid it over.

"You look like you could use it," She said to him when he looked over at her.

"And if they do not agree?" Jaime said then not addressing her words, but reaching for the cup none-the-less.

"They will," Sansa answered him. Their eyes locked for a moment before Ser Jaime extended his hand with the wine, seemingly offering it to her.

Jon wasn't entirely surprised she accepted it, she was fond of wine, he knew. What caught him off guard, and probably forced him to speak his next words, was after she took a sip she handed the glass back to him.

"After, Ser Jaime, along with most of the other Lords and Ladies, will return south, to prepare for winter and send provisions North. In his case, he will return with his army. Sansa as Lady of Winterfell, you'll remain here."

They both turned to him then, Jon mildly pleased when the Lannister set the glass down.

"I will do no such thing. I will go south with Ser Jaime, otherwise what is the purpose of our marriage?"

He'd expected a refusal of course, to which he had an easy rebuttal, "You're the Lady of Winterfell—"

"It won't be for long," Sansa interrupted him. "And in any case, you'll remain here until I return."

All eyes turned to her, but she ignored them all, looking at Jon like Arya used to whenever she'd made her mind up about something. Like his petulant little sister, he thought, unable to help the subtle upturn of his lips.

"Alright Sansa," He relented, sighing deeply.

He felt Daenerys turn to look at him with what was likely surprise since he'd given in so easily. In truth, he hadn't truly expected his sister to agree, no matter what he said. He'd still tried of course.

❄️

The brief ceremony, though it had hardly been that, had been held in the great hall before the evening feast. Jon told them of the Night King, and what was expected of each Kingdom, but he let Daenerys break the news of Sansa's betrothal.

The first had been met with skepticism, the second outright hostility. In the end, both submitted, the Southern lords to Jon, but it had been Sansa, who tempered the Northern Lords into acceptance, not with submission, but with a show of her own power and veracity.

"I am a Stark and the Lady of Winterfell, and it is my decision. I will be the one marrying him, not any of you. You do not need to like it, but do not think for one moment that I need your permission."

The grumbling did not stop, and just as Lord Glover opened his mouth, to throw out some threat no doubt, his sister didn't let him.

"Leave if you wish, but we all know you aren't going anywhere. There is nowhere safer than Winterfell, and that is thanks in part to our southern allies, so you may as well accept it."

Surprisingly the Hall quieted after she spoke, somewhat at least, there were still hushed whispers throughout the room, but no one spoke up.

Sansa looked over at Lady Lyanna, whose expression wasn't without reproach. Her voice grew soft as she spoke then, and though her tone was lighter than his had been, it still reminded Jon of their father.

"Someday the North will remember this too. That the south came to our aid."


	34. The Pilot

A short one, but hey at least it's an update right? (that's what I tell myself anyway)

* * *

 _For the Lost and Unreturning we have drifted, we have waited; Uncommanded and unrated,  
we have tossed and wandered, yearning for a charm that comes no more…  
We have shamed ourselves in learning what you knew so long before._

 _For the Breed of the Far-going who are strangers, and all brothers,  
May forget no more than others who looked seaward with eyes flowing.  
But are brothers to bewail one who fought so foul a gale?  
You have won beyond our knowing, you are gone, but yet we sail. _

_from The Pilot by Edwin Arlington Robinson_

Gendry

When King Jon summoned him, he hadn't been concerned, at least not at first. He thought it had something to do with the ceremony since it was that night and Gendry had never been to nor seen such a thing, surely the king planned on talking him through it, to save him the embarrassment.

It was after they had done all that, when Gendry had finally let himself relax and enjoy the pitcher of ale he was sharing with the King, that his friend finally gave him reason for concern.

"I would like to name you Lord of the Stormlands tonight at well."

He tensed immediately.

"I'm not—" _ready_ , Gendry thought but couldn't say, knowing it was poor excuse, but since he couldn't leave it at that, instead he said, "It's too soon, your Grace."

Jon frowned, if that was possible, considering he was his usual broody self.

"Time is in short supply, Gendry. I wish it could wait, but—" He trailed off, and for a moment it did not seem as if he planned on saying more.

"The realm is one now, we all are playing our part and now you must as well."

Gendry was not dense enough to misunderstand that the King meant himself, and though they were both bastards and of near age, Jon had done much more with his life, but he'd done little more than weld metal. He was still no one, no matter what blood ran through his veins.

He took a long gulp of the ale in his flagon, the alcohol only helped to bolster his feelings, so the words rushed out of his mouth before he could think better of them.

"I'm only a bastard from Fleabottom, just because the King fucked my mother doesn't make me a Baratheon."

King Jon froze like the words had been directed at him. For a moment, something like doubt—or perhaps a sudden realization—flickered on his face, and for a reason he could not explain, Gendry knew it had nothing to do with him.

"No, but it does make you the last of their bloodline," He finally answered, seeming as if the answer was not easy for him to admit. "Who but you should guard their lands?"

The answer came easily, though his voice sounded deep and affected, "Someone fit for the position, more capable."

The King sighed suddenly exasperated, "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but the kingdom is short of High Lords these days, otherwise the Queen may not be forced to give the Twins to Lord Bronn."

And just as the King's scorn appeared so did it leave, his expression solemn as usual as he spoke again.

"I leave the decision to you, whether you intend on taking the name, or forging a new one, because you cannot remain a Rivers."

He knew this already of course, he could not be lord of the Stormlands as a bastard from the Riverlands.

"How about Storm then, your grace?" He asked, hoping the question would also be understood as the answer the king wanted.

Acceptance.

King Jon let out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief, as if the burden on his shoulders had lessened just that little bit, and Gendry knew he had. Then he spoke.

"It was my impression that there was someone for whom you wanted to be more than just a bastard."

Gendry froze, wondering how King Jon seemed to know that, as he'd never truly intimated anything, not consciously in any case. Afraid his true motives had been discovered, he couldn't find his voice let alone the right words to speak.

His friend did not seem to expect an answer, "When you've decided, send word to Orwen or Rolan."

Gendry still could not speak, and the King used the moment to refill both their cups, to which he gladly took another sip. He could not imagine himself as 'Gendry Baratheon' and yet, choosing another seemed equally daunting. He thought of Arya then, knowing what he wanted to be for her. He was a bastard, but he didn't have to remain one. In an effort to distract himself for the moment, he decided to focus on his other concern.

"And the Queen?" Gendry asked, not having forgotten the Targaryen, even despite the fact that he'd never actually spoken to her.

The question was vague, but his friend seemed to understand.

"Has no condition on what you choose."

So she already knew then. Gendry wondered if his heritage worried her, and vowed to find a way to tell her he had no eye on the throne.

"I'm more worried she'll have my head," He admitted, half in jest, though there was very clearly an undercurrent of worry in his tone.

King Jon didn't address it, only smiled, small and barely there as his custom, before he spoke.

"I wouldn't worry, she prefers fire." Then Jon finally took a sip from his own cup, seemingly ending the conversation there.

"That makes me feel loads better," Gendry couldn't help but add, finally smirking himself, though he hadn't completely shaken the concern from his mind.

. . .

It was a couple days later when King Jon made his second request.

You wish me to go to the Vale?"

King Jon nodded, "To escort Sansa's cousin back, and continue your training both in combat and everything else it means to be a lord. No better teacher than Lord Royce, these days anyway."

Now as Gendry Baratheon—he was not clever enough to make his own or perhaps he was more Robert's son than he expected—Lord of the Stormlands, a title which made him feel ridiculous, he was about to finally learn what that meant.

He'd never had much interest in seeing the Vale, and especially not the Eryie. While he wasn't afraid of heights, he'd hardly seen the purpose of going to the trouble of not dying to get there. But Gendry knew he was vastly underprepared for his new position, and would not contest this decision, not since it made sense.

"I'd also like you to keep an eye on matters there for me," King Jon added on a serious note.

Gendry nodded, knowing what the King truly meant, as he knew better than most, of being careful in who you trusted, regardless of the type of person they seemed to be. _Power_ was a great corrupter, of even the best of men. Lord Royce was being given a great load, rule of a kingdom and caretaker of the last Arryn left, it would be foolish to not to send someone, and Gendry only hoped he could live up to the trust he'd been given.

He made just one request, he would not return to the castle until the war ended, nor would he accept any retinue but a squire. King Jon reluctantly agreed.

They left a few days before Lady Sansa's wedding of which he couldn't help be grateful. For one, he disliked the Lannister and wasn't particularly fond of weddings for another, regardless of the abundance of food and ale.

The road was hard and cold, but the weather grew warmer the more South they went, though it did not get hot enough for him to remove his cloak. The season had changed, green was replaced with red, orange and yellow, the warm tones of fall, the Starks were right after all, winter was coming, and quickly.

He kept to himself mostly during the journey, though he did try to keep up with Lord Royce and even spoke to Robin Arryn a couple of times, though they weren't particularly long, mostly the boy spoke of how excited he was to return to the Eyrie.

So by the time they reached the Crossroads Inn to rest for the night, he couldn't help but hope that Hot Pie was still there, baking oddly shaped bread. Even though he'd been on his own for a lot of his life, and was used to it, he longed for familiar company.

In the end, he was not disappointed, but it had been Hot Pie, now Hallys apparently, to recognize him. It was later, after the majority of his party had retired, including little Lord Arryn and Lord Royce, that they managed to truly speak to one another.

"So where you been all this time?" His old friend asked almost as soon as they had settled at a table.

Gendry smiled a little sardonically, unsure exactly how to sum up everywhere he'd been. He decided on the essentials.

"The Riverlands for a time, but I've been in the North since."

Hot Pie— _Hallys_ he reminded himself— chuckled, looking at him with amusement.

"Missed her that much didya?"

He felt a shock of surprise and stilled for half a moment.

"The Lannisters were looking for me, wasn't safe for me in the South," He finally answered, trying to seem unconcerned, and took a long sip of ale to disguise his true feelings.

Hot Pie—new name be damned—nodded, still grinning as if he didn't truly believe him.

"So you heading back to the Riverlands now since she's not there?"

"No, I'm heading—" Gendry paused then, his friend's words suddenly registering in his mind.

"How do you know she's not in the North?"

Hot Pie paused for the slightest of moments before he took a sip from his flagon, and shrugged, "I'm not supposed to say, but she thinks you dead, I'd say that excludes you, yeah?"

He felt a twist in his stomach. It couldn't be, could it?

"Who thinks I'm dead?" He managed to ask.

"Arry," Hot Pie answered casually.

"I mean Arya," He corrected himself after a moment.

The twist turned into a wrench, and for a moment he couldn't breath, though his heart continued to beat hard and fast.

"You saw Arya?"

He seemed oblivious of Gendry's change, for which he was grateful, as Hot Pie answered, "Not long ago, came to the inn for the night. Said she was looking for the brotherhood, said they owed her."

This managed to suddenly distract him, what could they possible owe her?

So he asked,"Owed her what?"

His friend shrugged. "The brotherhood owes everyone somethin' didn't think to ask."

Gendry accepted this answer easily, as it was entirely too true, and if he was being honest, they owed him something as well.

"And where did you send her?" He asked, needing to know.

"Well last I heard, the brotherhood was shacked up in Sallydance. S'what Anguy told me anyway, 'n what I told her."

Gendry could not suppress the smile that suddenly filled his face.

"That's not too far from here."

. . .

By the next morning he knew what he had to do, what he knew he would never be able to stop himself from doing. She was close, too close, to pass up such an opportunity would be a great irresponsibility on his part.

He spoke with Lord Royce as they broke their fast.

"There is a matter I must attend to, I must journey further South."

The elder man frowned as he spoke, "Is this a matter of the King or your own?"

Surely King Jon would want to know of his sister's whereabouts, and though it was hardly the true reason, he answered anyway, "It is."

The scowl smoothed out a little, so Gendry continued, "I won't be long, I will catch up with you all in a day or two."

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, as Lord Royce tensed once more.

"And I take you plan to do this all on your own am I correct in that assumption?" He asked, as he put down his utensils and pushed his plate away, abandoning his food, turning to look at him full on.

Under the scrutiny of the man's serious expression, he nodded, and felt compelled to say, "I can take care of myself."

Lord Royce smirked, looking amused by his words.

"With a father like King Robert, I do not doubt it, but the pass up to the Eyrie is dangerous, and it is not wise to do it alone."

Gendry opened his mouth to defend himself, to tell him that he knew of the danger, but the man did not let him.

"We'll give you two days, after which we'll depart. It is a few days journey until the road truly grows treacherous, be sure to reach us before then."

He wasn't entirely sure why Lord Royce was being so accommodating, maybe it was because he was a Lord himself, or because it was a matter of the King, but whatever the case, Gendry would not question it.

"Thank you Lord Royce." He said then, before he stood to leave, not wanting to waste any more time.

"In any case," He answered, looking up at Gendry and keeping him from leaving, "I will leave a retinue of ten men here should you not arrive in time."

He wanted to dispute this, but again didn't, only nodded, accepting this condition as well.

He'd already told his squire to prepare the horses, so they left only moments later. The sun was bright in the sky, and he felt himself smile, as he made his way back to the Riverlands, knowing he was _finally_ heading towards her.

* * *

a/n: Haven't heard from Gendry in forever, and it's just a snippet, but there will be more soon. Thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated!


	35. Conjunction

So this is a long one, and believe it or not, there's a lot more I still wanted to include but I ended it where I did otherwise I might never post it, and I'm super overdue as is.

WARNING: If you're not a fan of Jaime and the J/S thing, you might want to go ahead and skip this chapter, as this is more about 'ship building' than 'plot building', because I seriously indulged here. As for those of you on board with the Jaime and Sansa train (though i'm sorry to say is still pg-13), even though it's not strictly canon compliant, hopefully it should make for a good read. (nerd alert:) I hope you enjoy the ride! And please, let me know what you thought.

* * *

 _What happens afterwards, none need enquire: They are poised there in conjunction, beyond time,_  
 _At an oak-tree top level with Paradise: Its leafy tester unshaken where they stand,_  
 _Palm to palm, mouth to mouth, beyond desire… and the tremulous gasp of watchful winds…_

 _Past all unbelief… Twin paragons, our final selves, resistant…_  
 _The forester, never known to abandon his vigilant coursing of the greenwood's floor,_  
 _And you, dryad of dryads, never before yielding her whole heart to the enemy, man._

 _from Conjunction by Robert Graves_

 **Jaime**

ø

The weeks leading up to his marriage passed in a blur, amounting to little more than a collection of odd and often uncomfortable encounters with the other inhabitants of the castle.

Luckily most of the high Lords left just after the Royal Wedding, including lady Olenna and Ellaria and the newly appointed Baratheon, leaving only Lord Edmure as the last Southern thorn in his side, but only because the man hated _him (u_ nderstandably of course). Theon and Bronn remained as well, all of which would be attending his upcoming nuptials.

The thought nagged at the already twisted pit in Jaime's stomach, the same that had been there since his brother had declared the Queen's intentions back in Casterly Rock. He took a deep breath in an attempt to quell it, but it did little to assuage the feeling.

His and Lady Sansa's presence was hardly needed when it came to arranging the ceremony, as it would be a much simpler event than the new King and Queen's had been. They would marry before the new gods rather than the old, in the same sept where her own parents had wed. He'd not been told a reason why, at least not in words, but he'd known anyway, by the look in her eyes. So he said nothing, and kept his expression even, only nodded in agreement.

So in an effort to keep himself busy, and keep uncomfortable situations to a minimum, he spent most of his time training with Pod and or Bronn, currently only the latter, as Podrick had been called away by Lady Sansa. It was likely this, Pod's absence, that Bronn finally brought up his engagement.

"Odd isn't it," The man said, his face uncharacteristically serious.

Jaime took a breath as he made to stand after having been knocked particularly hard off his feet. His own mistake of course, forgetting for a moment that the once sellsword did not always play by the rules.

Bronn looked over at him, he had just gotten to his knees, and continued, "This being her third marriage and you, your first."

Jaime hadn't even considered that, or what the implications meant to a man like Bronn, so he only answered, "I suppose so."

He was finally on his feet, and he stretched a little to ease some of the pain from the fall. He looked over when he noticed Bronn, clearly lost in his thoughts by the hazy expression in his eyes. Jaime was tempted to return the jab that had been taken on him, when he'd been momentarily distracted during their fight, but didn't. Instead he stood and waited, wondering, and maybe a little bit worried, by what had the man so preoccupied.

Bronn finally looked over and suddenly smirked at Jaime as he spoke, "Not to mention you'll be giving up Casterly Rock while she rules the North. Does that make her the groom and you the bride?"

Jaime chuckled, more in relief than mirth realizing it was a jab of another sort, and not something serious or insightful as he feared.

"I guess it does," He answered in jest, not feeling bothered by the assessment.

Finally, Bronn frowned, "You don't seem too upset by that."

"I'm not," He replied, a smirk still playing at his lips.

Bronn took a deep breath, "I don't suppose i'd be too upset either, not if I was about to share my bed with a beautiful young woman like Lady Stark."

This, likely as intended, wiped the smile from Jaime's face—even though this sort of innuendo was of course Lord Bronn's bread and butter, and Jaime had long since gotten used to it.

He rolled his eyes, but said nothing, only resumed his stance and hoped his friend—he had to be as Jaime wasn't sure he'd let anyone other than his own brother say such things to him—would do the same.

After a moment, he finally did, even returning the roll of eyes, but instead, he spoke.

"It's no fun if you don't fight back."

So, Jaime lunged.

ø

It was a few nights before _the day_ when Podrick came knocking. It was late, long after the evening meal and Jaime was sitting by the fire in his room, trying to read as sleep seemed to evade him.

He felt his insides constrict when he opened the door, as he was reminded of the first time Podrick had come to him.

When he made his intentions clear, that Lady Sansa wished to speak with him in the Godswood on the eve before their wedding, Jaime feared nothing good would come from this second secret meeting, but he agreed anyway. Now that the time had come however, he froze. He had no idea what this was about, but considering the first had been about Brienne's death, the odds were not looking good.

It was only in remembering that she was out in the cold waiting for him that he finally made his way there, doing his best to avoid being seen. The moon was bright in the sky but it was late, and he saw no one.

She was already there when he reached the Heart tree, eyes closed in prayer, sitting just as many Starks before her likely had. He remained silent for a moment, trying not to notice how bright her hair shone in the moonlight, nor how her pale skin seemed almost silky smooth, the combination of both managing to distract him enough that he was unable to find the right way to tell her he was there.

In the end, he cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke her name, his voice sounding weak and unsure. Her gaze found his then, and he was suddenly certain she felt as uncertain as he did.

She stood before answering, "Lord Jaime, thank you for meeting me."

" _Again_ ," She added as an afterthought, smiling lightly.

It was gone as quickly as it had appeared but he returned the gesture anyway, his own grin likely a poor imitation of the one she'd given him.

Aside from her name, he still hadn't spoken, and suddenly remembering his manners, though he wasn't sure how exactly to answer, he only nodded and directed the conversation forward.

"What did you wish to speak of Lady Sansa?" He asked, his voice finally steady. He expected her to hesitate, but she didn't.

"I should like us to be honest with each other, here, now, before we marry."

Though she included herself in this request, he was fairly certain this was mostly about him, even despite still not knowing what they were there to discuss.

"Of course," He replied, managing to keep an even tone as he continued, "Is there somewhere specific you'd like to start?"

This time she nodded, seeming to finally waver. Another long moment passed before she finally spoke.

"You did not know about Robb and m-my mother, did you?"

She frowned slightly as her voice broke on her words, but she only waited, the silence looming heavily between them. Of all the things he'd expected, this had not been on the list, most likely since it was one of the few Lannister sins he could gratefully say was not his to bear.

"I should have," He finally answered, his own voice solemn, understanding the difficulty it probably took to speak of her family, most of all to him.

But at least about this, he could easily be truthful as he was relatively removed from the situation, and because the guilt of it lay at the feet of men who were long dead.

"When Lord Bolton returned me to King's Landing, I did not truly consider why. At the moment, I thought it was self-preservation, and I was too glad to be returning home to truly think on it. It was not until I reached the capital—"

"That is all I needed to know," She interrupted him, closing her eyes, likely not wanting to think on the pain of those memories.

He couldn't fathom everything she had suffered by his own family's hand, how despite this, she was still marrying him even when he carried his own load of sins. In kind, he could not believe his own luck.

"I know there is nothing I can say nor do to make up for what my family—what **I** have done to yours, but I am sorry, Sansa. I know it means very little, since there's nothing I can do to repay what's been taken nor undo what's been done, but I promise, to protect you. to keep you safe."

There was still hurt in her eyes, but she smiled lightly, "I know you will."

She made to move, and this time it was him who held her back, his good hand hooking into the crook of her elbow, forcing her to turn back to him.

"As long as we're being honest, there are some things you should know before—"

 _We marry._ His voice trailed off, unable to say the words.

She let out a deep sigh, seeming resigned to what was coming, at least until she spoke.

"I have a confession as well, but you first."

Suddenly he couldn't speak though he didn't have to wonder why. After a few moments, he finally made himself answer.

"What I had with Cersei—"

Her hand gripping his forearm halted his words, and after glancing at the contact for a moment he looked up and as quickly as his eyes found hers, she let go.

"There are many things we must talk about, Ser Jaime, too many," She spoke evenly, somehow finding composure, and a firm gaze.

"We could never hope to speak of them all in one night. With time, when we are _both_ ready."

He understood, of course he did, but how could he marry her without at least explaining himself? So he insisted, "About your brother—"

"When the time comes, lay your guilt at my brother's feet, not mine. I cannot speak for Bran, but I've forgiven you Ser Jaime."

"Why?" He heard himself ask, and it came so unbidden he could not have stopped himself from asking even if he'd wanted to.

"I don't suppose you remember, what with my brother nearly killing you, but I agreed to marry you for the sake of our kingdoms of course, but I only truly considered it because of Brienne."

"It was her—" He said then, in the momentary pause between her words. Needless to say, she didn't let him continue.

"Not because you sent her to me, but because of something she told me before she died. For fear the knowledge of it would die with her. "

Her eyes softened then, as they so rarely did, and he kept quiet, wanting to hear what she had to say, feeling as if he already knew what it was and yet not wanting her to say it either.

"About that night with the Mad King."

The name brought the memory of the confession to the forefront of his mind, the way it had taken so much out of him to say it, of Brienne holding his mangled body—

"It has helped me understand a little I think, or perhaps your motivations at least, and I am willing to put the past behind us, if you will as well."

Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and he found himself grateful for not only that, but as she continued speaking, she hadn't forced him to say anything about it.

He nodded, knowing it was more than he deserved, and only hoped he could keep his end of the bargain.

ø

When he woke the morning of his wedding day, he was surprised to find the knot had moved up to his chest. He now felt it like a hole, achingly empty, a black abyss of unknowing. There was nothing else but it, even as the castle hustled only with a slight edge of hurry.

After he broke his fast, Lady Sansa nowhere to be seen, he was allowed his morning training round with Podrick, but nothing else after that, as the days were growing shorter already. Forced to his room to ready himself, he bathed and his squire trimmed his hair and shaved his face clean. After he was appropriately dressed and his hand replaced after being polished—the gold glinted at him ostentatiously so he made Rollam fetch him a glove to cover it—he sat by the fire sipping a cup of wine as he waited, knowing someone would come get him when the time came.

It was his squire who eventually did, glove in hand, but his face white as a sheet.

Jaime was about to ask what happened when the boy extended his arm with the proffered item and spoke, "It's time my Lord."

He frowned for a moment, but eventually left it at that, and focused on putting the glove on for himself, as his squire was suddenly standing at the door, already waiting for him. He understood the boy's behaviour once it was open. Just beyond stood the King himself, and the man was not alone.

Jaime had been waiting for this moment of course, for the threat to his life, in his case the second, he still had the scar from the first after all. King Jon, though having given his consent was on edge regarding the union and especially on his sister's suitor, Jaime himself.

What he had not been expecting, was the large white direwolf, looming menacingly at the King's side, his red eyes burning and teeth bared. Though it was also not the first time he'd been threatened this way, and he was not chained up, it was no less intimidating.

Aside from the animal who seemed ready to kill, they were alone, Rollam long since having disappeared.

"Lord Jaime," He began, his expression cold and his voice barely hiding his contempt.

He bowed respectfully but didn't speak and avoided the beast's eyes, knowing the man would get to the point quicker that way.

He did as he stepped forward into the room, forcing Jaime to step back as the direwolf followed suit. The King closed the door behind him, and Jaime couldn't help feeling as if this could very well be the end of his life. Perhaps this had been King Jon's intention all along, to agree to the union, only to have his direwolf 'accidentally' rip him to shreds before it could take place. Likely no one would be all that surprised, nor bothered, least of all his intended.

"Though I need hardly say it," The King's dark voice interrupted Jaime's increasingly morbid thoughts, though only long enough to force him back to the point.

"Should any harm come to my sister by your actions, in any way, deliberate or not, or should you do anything as much as touch her without her consent, it will not be my blade, nor dragon fire that ends your life."

The great white direwolf stepped forward then, seeming to read his master's mind, his teeth bared and glinting sharp. Jaime knew that if it came to that, his death would not be quick, and those glowing mad red eyes would be the last thing he'd ever see.

Jaime bowed deeply, knowing that put his bare throat that much closer to that mouth, hoping the gesture was understood. He hardly deserved his life as it was, he already knew this, and he would not break this last and final chance to prove he could be a better sort of man.

A long moment passed before he heard King Jon speak, his voice resigned yet still somewhat satisfied, "You ought to head to the sept."

Jaime raised his head and when he looked over at the King, he was surprised by the earnest look in his eyes, an expression Jaime was certain he was never meant to see. Then, King Jon spoke.

"For my sister's sake, do right by her, Ser Jaime."

' _Don't make me regret this_.' He hadn't said the last, but Jaime heard it in the cadence of his voice and the look in his eyes.

There was nothing he could do nor say, only time would tell, so he attempted neither and only nodded his head, as he often had these days.

They left his chambers moments later, Jaime making his way to the sept and King Jon to Lady Sansa so he could escort her to the same place, and to him.

When he exited the keep into the darkening sky and the sharp breeze in the air, the chill helped clear his thoughts. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with that same cold wind hoping it would do the same with the hole in his chest. He breathed out, and though he felt steadier, the pit was still there.

"I was just about to escort you to the sept," He heard a familiar voice ahead of him.

He opened his eyes, not truly bothered by Theon's presence, but he'd been hoping for a moment alone to collect his thoughts, and find his nerve. He'd gone to battle worse equipped than he was now, and yet the coming ceremony filled him with a deep well of dread he'd never felt before.

He said nothing to Theon's words, only began walking toward the place, eventually passing him. Theon followed, a step behind.

"I don't suppose I have to give you _the talk_ ," Jaime heard him say a few moments later.

He turned to look back at the Greyjoy, unsurprised he knew, or at least correctly assumed, King Jon had already done so.

"No, I don't suppose you do," He answered before turning forward once more. They were nearly there.

"Lady Sansa is like a sister to me, but we've fought together, so I know what kind of man you are, and I do not doubt you'll do right by her. Even if you don't seem so sure of it yourself in this moment."

There it was again, that word— _right,_ ** _do_** _right—by your family and the gods and your king,_ ** _be_** _the right kind of man, honourable and good and true—_ taunting Jaime as if he hadn't been trying to do and be just that all his life. Here were two men, two _brothers_ , one seemingly certain he could, the other was not, and Jaime himself felt the truth somewhere in the middle. In the end, he said nothing to Theon's words, and thankfully the man said nothing more.

They were standing side by side at the sept doors then, already open and still empty save for the Septon standing between the statues of the Father and Mother. He looked over at Theon once more, momentarily wondering how he'd become friends with such a ragtag group of men. First his brother, then Ser Bronn and Lady Brienne, and Podrick, and finally Theon. A Greyjoy.

And now he was about to marry a Stark. The world truly was ending.

ø

The first to arrive was Lord Edmure with his wife Roslin in arm, and though it seemed the man intended to approach him, with a gentle tug she lead him towards their spot instead. He wanted to smile at her, feeling a well of gratitude towards her, but didn't, knowing it would likely not be well received by her husband who was still glaring at him.

The Northern Lords still in Winterfell trickled in soon after, eyes glaring but silent. Lord Bronn was nearly the last to arrive, a smirk on his face and Jaime could only assume the man was either remembering their conversation in the yard or one of the many taunts he'd made since learning of his engagement to Lady Sansa.

He did not even get the chance to roll his eyes as Queen Daenerys arrived in that moment, drawing all attention to her as she entered, including Lord Bronn. Jaime was surprised to see the serious, almost sour expression on her face, considering everything was going her way; this union had been her idea entirely, and she'd somehow succeeded in convincing King Jon to agree to it, yet there was no sense of satisfaction anywhere in her eyes.

He was only able to stew on this for a few moments, as a sudden hush fell over and all eyes turned to the opposite end of the room once more.

The time had come.

When he turned for himself, he froze, feeling as if the black pit in his chest had swallowed him whole.

She wore no cloak, only an off-white velvet gown, demure and simple, but the colour and fit suiting her perfectly. Her hair was mostly loose, half pinned back in a braid. It was only as she drew closer that he noticed the small blue roses woven in her hair and the small golden details trimming her dress.

Sansa's eyes found Jaime's as her brother lead her forward, and when he realized _it_ was there, that rare glint of warmth, suddenly he was certain no one had ever looked more beautiful, not the Dragon Queen with her silver hair, nor the Tyrell girl with her spark of wit, not even his golden twin with all her ire, in the height of her beauty and his love for her. Suddenly he was Jaime again, as the hole spit him back out, and everything else faded away, including the absence he'd been carrying in his chest, so quickly it was almost as if it had never been there to begin with.

Sooner than he'd expected she was at his side, and he only barely noticed King Jon leave to stand beside his own wife. Jaime took a deep breath before he moved to wrap the cloak about her shoulders, only now seeing the crimson silk lining as he opened it. He would've grinned if he was not focusing on making sure the fabric did not slip from his golden hand.

She looked up at him, eyes still warm, and took his hand as he finished, now leading him towards the Septon. Jaime vaguely heard him begin, concentrated as he was, only registering the man's presence once he stepped closer, and Sansa pulled up their joined hands. The Septon spoke as he wrapped the ribbon around them, and though Jaime listened, he kept his gaze on her. Sansa's eyes were dutifully on the man speaking, but by the slight blush on her cheeks he was fairly certain she felt him looking. Knowing this, he tried to look away, but couldn't.

"Let it be known that Lady Sansa of House Stark and Lord Jaime of House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

After the slight pause, Jaime finally looked forward, knowing the man was waiting for his attention.

When he had it, he continued, "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Now look upon each other and say the words."

She finally looked up at him, her timid expression mirroring his own, he took a deep breath before he spoke, her voice echoing his as well.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

"I am hers, and she is mine." _"I am his and he is mine."_

 _"_ From this day, until the end of my days."

The Septon unravelled the ribbon before stepping back once more, and though Jaime had been fearing this moment, he still said the words.

"With this kiss I pledge my love."

With her eyes piercing him to his core he leaned forward, but suddenly stopped halfway, realizing he couldn't do it. So instead of her mouth, his lips found her cheek. The kiss was short and chaste, but he wouldn't ever forget the feel of her skin against his own. When he pulled away he saw the blush on her cheek before she quickly turned to the small group, now clapping lightly.

Joined in more ways than one, as they were still palm to palm, they headed to the Great Hall and for once, he hardly noticed the daggers being thrown his way.

ø

It wasn't until after the feast, which although not entirely cheerful was at least not as uncomfortable as he'd expected, that the pit in his chest made its reappearance. As there would be no bedding ceremony—thankfully, before they left the Great Hall, the guests began to come forward and offer their congratulations. Mostly they looked at Sansa—the Northern Lords did at least—as they spoke, but it didn't bother him, instead he was grateful being overlooked.

It wasn't until after Lord Edmure came up and approached his niece, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, that he was finally directly addressed. Distracted with his wife, Lady Roslin, as they were currently talking, Sansa didn't notice the look her uncle was shooting his way.

The older man stuck out his hand, and waited. Jaime took the proffered hand and shook it, though it was the last thing he'd expected from the man. When Edmure pulled him in slightly, Jaime understood suddenly why he'd done it.

His expression was dark and menacing, and his voice low as he spoke.

"You once told me you would do anything for Cersei."

The clear omission hung heavy between them for a moment, and Jaime felt the full weight of his guilt, on the words he'd truly said. It didn't matter that he'd never meant it, would never have done it. It didn't matter that he'd only used his reputation as a monster so he could win the castle back without bloodshed. None of this mattered because he'd said the words, and Edmure had believed him.

"What I said—" He began, but it seemed the man didn't want to hear it. Instead he interrupted Jaime with a small shake of the head, but there was no anger in his words, only resolution.

"May you love my niece more than you loved _her_."

He looked over at his new wife, she was smiling at Lady Roslin, and suddenly he wondered if there was a chance he wouldn't, but he said nothing, only nodded.

They left the Great Hall shortly after, Sansa leading the way as it was her chambers they'd be sharing, and the quiet was so heavy he could hardly breathe, let alone risk a glance her way to gage her feelings. When they reached the door, he felt rather than saw her look at him, so he finally met her gaze.

"This is it," She said simply.

This whole evening had been singularly out of the ordinary that it was no surprise when it was her who finally opened the door and him who entered first.

He heard her close the door behind him, but nothing else as he took in the room before him. It wasn't much unlike any other he'd been in, he could see the fire burning in the hearth, two chairs strategically placed in front of it, as well as a table against the opposite wall, littered with drinks and various finger foods.

Just beyond, in the centre of her room, was her bed. He wanted to look away, and turn towards her so she would not think he was looking at it, but found that he couldn't, he felt frozen solid in place.

But then her hand was touching his shoulder, and he finally faced her.

"I can't," Jaime said then, the words tumbling out of his mouth without control, a slight edge of panic in his voice.

She smiled, seemingly unconcerned as she removed her hand. Then she spoke, her voice calm and easy, "For the sake of our houses and my brother and the Queen's pact, we need only share the room while at Winterfell."

He let out a sigh of relief and nodded, even though she hadn't directly said it, he could be sure there would be no pressure to share their bed either.

Then, she continued, her voice suddenly serious, "Once we leave for the Westerlands, there shall be no need for pretence, nor reproach if you decide that there is. There does not need to be love between us, nor discord either. Only the truth. Can we agree to that?"

This seemed entirely fair—though he was not sure where he'd stand when the time came—but he answered easily, "I can agree to that."

Her lips turned up slightly once more as she spoke, "Shall we drink to it?"

He felt himself smile lightly as he nodded before moving over to the table, and didn't bother to ask if it was wine she wanted as there could be no other. As for himself, he poured a shot or two of rum, even though he'd never had a taste for it, knowing he needed something a little stronger than wine.

It wasn't until after he'd poured the drinks that he realized he would never be able to take them both over, not unless he slid the stem of her wine glass into the space between the thumb and forefinger of his golden hand. When he had a vivid flash of the cup slipping from his grasp and spilling all over her lovely white gown, he gave up that idea and decided on taking two trips even if it made him look foolish.

Just as he extended his arm for the glass, almost from over his shoulder her own hand reached for it first.

"Thought i'd come see what there is," She said nonchalantly, standing beside him as she plucked a small cake—lemon as he saw the slice decorating the top—from the table.

He suddenly remembered the very same had been served at the feast, and wondered if it was because she liked them. He didn't have to wonder for long.

"These are my favourite," She added, before making her way over to the chairs by the fire.

Grabbing his own cup and tossing it back, he served himself another double shot before following her. She had already removed her cloak and was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire when he joined her. She seemed peculiarly unfettered with all the conflict that was brewing in his own head, she was either truly without worry, or she wore her mask too well.

It was quiet for a little while, Jaime had no idea what to say and Lady Sansa said nothing either, so they both sipped their drinks and glanced at the fire. Eventually she broke the silence.

"You don't need to be uncomfortable Jaime," She said, her voice gentle, but honest.

It was likely this, the softness in her tone, that he spoke without thinking, "I wish I could handle it as easily as you do, but I lack your experience—"

He'd only meant to be honest, but as he heard the words he realized they weren't exactly very kind, in fact could be taken very wrongly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" He fumbled, his eyes downcast until he heard her laugh, the sound so light and earnest he couldn't help but look up once more.

"I see Lord Bronn has gotten in your head," She interrupted, her expression only half serious, so it was a moment before her words hit him.

"Lord Bronn?" He repeated, letting the confusion show on his face.

She kept her tone light, "He was your brother's closest confident when we were briefly married. I recognize the man's work when I see it."

Her words, unfortunately, did little to help him feel at ease.

"How so?" He asked, unable to avoid it.

"I'd rather not get into it, suffice it to say, your brother Tyrion blundered rather badly when we first spoke on _the day_ , and subsequently for the rest of the evening, though I won't put all of that on Lord Bronn's shoulders."

He understood she meant the rest of his family even without saying it, and though he'd heard of his brother's disastrous wedding day from Tyrion himself, he wasn't sure he wished to hear of it from her. Not now, at least. So in an effort to steer the conversation away, he focused on the first part.

He smiled, "Are you certain it was Lord Bronn and not your own beauty?"

He paused, face frozen in shock, wondering how that had come out and if he had just directly implied _he_ thought that of her.

He felt his cheeks burning as he spoke, and looked away.

"I only meant—No one can match my brother when it comes to getting inside someone's head, and Tyrion is much more easily distracted by a beautiful woman—"

 _Gods_. He'd done it again.

When he heard her laugh once more, he decided to quit while he was ahead, and finally turned to her once more.

"You know—you're probably right," He finally agreed, taking a long sip from his glass.

She looked at him a moment longer, her face an unexplainable combination of amusement and serious consideration. Finally, she reached for her own glass but paused before drinking from it.

"Thank you Jaime," She said simply, voice low, then tipped the glass back and drank deep.

A little while later she finally excused herself to sleep, telling him she hoped he did not stay up too late.

Neither spoke of the sleeping arrangements, but he promised he would not. He finished his fourth shot before he fell asleep right where he'd intended to all along, the chair he was already comfortably sitting in.

When he woke the next morning, a large fur covered the bulk of his body. He looked over towards the bed, thinking it had been her, but found it empty. He sat up and stretched, rubbing his face as he felt the slight crude leftover from the rum, and just as he was about to stand and head for the table in search of plain water, Sansa entered, fully dressed, from a different door than he'd come through.

"Good morning Ser Jaime," She said evenly.

"Good morning," He answered, voice as scratchy as he felt.

With a look that could only mean ' _that's what you get for sleeping in a chair_ ' she spoke, "I hope you slept well."

"It was not bad," He answered, in an effort to remain true. He had had plenty worse than that after all.

She nodded as if she didn't really believe him, but otherwise didn't address his words.

"My brother and the Queen would like us to break fast with them and my Uncle and Lady Roslin as they'll be leaving after. I took the liberty of having your things brought here."

He didn't get a chance to speak as Rollam entered in that moment, holding a pile of clothing that looked to be his own.

"I'll wait for you in the hall," She said, her voice unsure, before suddenly dashing out of the room.

ø

Their sleeping arrangements remained the same from then on, though he moved to the chaise which was slightly more comfortable. Her eyes sometimes flashed in irritation at him but she said nothing about it.

By the time they left Winterfell, only a few days later, the King and Queen seemed more strained than ever, and though it was possible his new wife knew the cause, she'd never said anything to him. He pretended not to notice, as he had no clue what it could be about nor did he really want to know, so he only made his formal bows to the both of them before mounting his horse and waited for Sansa to do the same. Before she did though, she made her own polite curtsey to the Queen before hugging her brother goodbye.

They made their departure with Lord Bronn in tow, as they'd be escorting him to the Twins where they'd witness his union to his chosen Frey before making their own way to Seagard and finally Casterly Rock by sea from there.

The first night they made camp less than half a day's journey to castle Cerwyn, and Jaime found himself grateful they'd pass the place sometime tomorrow instead of stopping there for the night, though that forced them to seek shelter at a small farm. The family dutifully gave up their son's bedroom for Lady Sansa and himself, though he'd have preferred staying in the barn with Lord Bronn and Podrick and their northern escort, it would not do to leave her alone, regardless of how harmless the people seemed.

The room was small and the bed smaller still, with no other furniture but a table that barely fit a stool underneath it. When he looked over at her, he could tell she was wondering about the dynamics of fitting them both on the mattress.

"I'll take the floor," He said then, knowing he would never attempt to squeeze into a bed that size with her.

She seemed almost relieved though she tried to hide it. "Are you sure? I mean, perhaps we could both fit—"

He didn't let her finish, "The floor is fine, I've had much worse."

She seemed unconvinced still, her hands fumbling with each other, mouth half open as if to speak as she seemed to teeter between acceptance and contradicting him.

"Truly," He added lightly, looking at her openly, hoping she'd accept this, since it was nowhere near a lie.

"Alright," She finally answered, though she still seemed hesitant.

She moved past him, towards the table, and as she took off her cloak he realized the cause of her concern. This was not her room in Winterfell where she had a bath room to disrobe in.

"I'll step out for a moment," He said then, very suddenly, his voice too loud in the small room. He'd turned to the door when she answered.

"Not necessary, only remain like that for a moment."

He nodded though he wasn't sure she saw, but he began to hear the ruffling of fabric so he stood still, hardly moved, feeling strangely nervous.

"Alright," She said after a little while, but he waited one more moment before he slowly turned around.

She was standing by the bed already, removing some of the furs, presumably for him. He tried not to look at her directly, since she stood clad only in her woollen shift, but their eyes connected for a moment before she turned her back to him, and began to lay the furs out on the floor, and he understood the action for what it was. However, it was hardly needed as he only removed his cloak, belt, gloves and boots, leaving on his doublet and everything else to avoid letting this get any more uncomfortable than it already was.

"Thank you," He said once he was done.

She turned to look at him after she'd finished—he noticed that she'd given him the only pillow—and seeing that he was still mostly dressed, the corners of her lips turned up slightly despite her obvious attempt to hide it.

"Your welcome," She answered before turning to the bed and sitting down.

He tried not to watch her settle and kind of glanced about the room until the sound of her movements stopped. Then, in one swift motion—with only a momentary glance her way to see her lying on her back—he lied beside her, albeit lower, as there wasn't anywhere else he'd fit.

The room grew quiet then, except for the pounding of his heart, though he was fairly certain she couldn't hear it under his many layers of clothing and fur, and then the silent breath he exhaled to try settle it.

"Good night Jaime," She said then, interrupting the stillness that had settled in the air.

He looked up though he couldn't really see her, feeling his own lips pull up lightly before he answered, "Good night Sansa."

Thankfully he woke first, most likely because the floor though not hard was cold. Despite still feeling drowsy because he hadn't slept all that well, he stood quickly, though silently to avoid waking her, and dressed, leaving off his belt and gloves. He'd already piled the furs of his makeshift bed and was kindling the fire to warm up the room so she'd not be cold when she got out of her own bed, when she actually woke.

"You're up early," She said to his back, still sounding half asleep.

He didn't want to lie but he also didn't want to make her feel bad by admitting he'd had a bad night, so he stalled, putting the poker back before turning.

He smiled, the kind of grin he always bore when he was using his mask, "Yes well, it was cold," He answered, voice pleasant.

Her eyes narrowed a little, as if she saw right through his answer, but didn't say anything, only slid her feet down to the ground and as she began to throw the covers from herself he quickly spoke.

"I'll go ready the men, and see about breakfast."

He spared her a momentary glance before he bowed slightly and grabbed his gloves and belt and left the room before she could speak.

ø

He entered the main room expecting the family either breaking their fast or about to, and instead found Bronn alone at the table eating, and the lady of the house cooking something over the fire. She greeted him quickly and offered him some stew, to which Jaime said of course, only he would wait for his wife. This seemed to please her, and she turned back to the pot.

He made his way over to Bronn, who was staring at him pensively. He sat despite the uneasiness he felt at such an expression.

"Good morning," Jaime said amiably, serving himself some mulled wine, wanting something hot.

"For you maybe," Bronn replied, voice slightly irritated. Jaime ignored it and him, and took a sip from his mug.

Unfortunately, his silence did not deter his friend, as he went straight to the source of his discomfort.

"I'm a Lord, yet I had to sleep outside with the other men, while you probably slept cozy and warm with your little wife."

Jaime thought of how far from the truth that was, but didn't feel like explaining nor defending himself, and only rolled his eyes, knowing Bronn had had worse nights, just like him.

His friend was seemingly looking to rile him up, as he pressed on.

"Now that I'm looking at you though, you're startin' to look a little rough 'round the edges. I can't believe i'm sayin' this, but you might want to slow it down a little. Ask your young bride to let you get some rest, otherwise you might not make it back to your Rock, and who would she do then?"

He wiggled his brows suggestively and chuckled, returning to his meal. Jaime felt himself burn with embarrassment and ire at Bronn's gall. Putting down his mug, he started with setting the man right.

"I slept on the floor, that is why I'm tired, not because—" He hesitated, not wanting to say it.

Bronn laughed harder. "What is it with you Lannister men and that ginger—"

"Don't forget that's my wife you're speaking of," Jaime interrupted him, suddenly serious.

His friend turned serious too then, and a little shocked. "I'm a proper Lord now, I don't say things like fuck and shit and cunt no more, I was going to say girl. But I see you're worse off than I thought."

What's that supposed to mean?" Jaime asked incredulously.

Bronn didn't hesitate, "Your brother wanted to fuck her—"

"What happened to—"

Bronn continued to speak over him, "But you… You're startin' to carry a real torch for the Stark girl."

Jaime felt as if he'd been punched in the chest and didn't immediately answer, though he wanted to, he simply couldn't find the words nor breath, so it was Bronn who finally did.

"I'll take that as a yes. In the words of your own brother on his wedding night—he later told me in confidence—"

He lifted his cup as in a toast, his smirk broad and wicked, "And so your watch begins."

* * *

a/n:So much of that was super corny, the ending especially, haha. What can I say? I told you guys, I indulged.

Anyway, this was a big one for me. A lot of (self)pressure to make it work considering the pairing and especially Sansa's past, and POV (despite it being a Jaime chapter). It was important to me that she have all the power in this moment, and that her wedding day feel as different from her last as possible, and while I'm never entirely satisfied with any chapter I post, I hope I achieved that.

Try not to judge Jaime so harshly, I mean, who wouldn't fall head over heels for Sansa? He has the good sense to restrain himself at least, perhaps too much, we'll have to see. Again, as always, thanks for reading. Tyrion next!


End file.
